


Sound of Settling

by SilverFlameAlchemist



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Biting, Clothing Kink, College Student Stiles, Daydreaming, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Feels, Fish Puns, Hickies, Kidnapped Derek Hale, Kidnapped Peter Hale, Kidnapping, Knotting, Let's Pretend like Malia Never Happened, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Derek, POV Derek Hale, POV Peter, POV Peter Hale, POV Stiles, POV Stiles Stilinski, Pack House, Pack in College, Panic Attacks, Peter being a good boyfriend, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf) Being an Idiot, Scott is a Bad Friend, Scott is clueless, Sex, Sex Pollen, Sirens made them do it, Song inspired title, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles Has a Crush, Stiles Stilinski Has Low Self-Esteem, Stiles is very good at puns, THIS IS A HAPPY FIC, Wolfed Out Sex, Wolfing Out, Wolfing Out During Sex, date crashing, everyone lives au, lots of inner monologue, magical sex, mentions of torture, not really tho, other magical beasts, puns for days, sex pollen but they both want to do it, so much sterek, sterek, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-05-05 13:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14619159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverFlameAlchemist/pseuds/SilverFlameAlchemist
Summary: “Is she a mermaid? Did you find a mermaid on your doorstep? Why didn’t you just say so, man, what—who is she? Why are mermaids turning up at your place with bullet wounds in the first place?”“She’s not a mermaid,” Derek explained (far too) calmly. “She’s a siren.”





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles was sitting in class, half-way paying attention to what his Freshman Orientation presenter was saying, when his phone buzzed. He managed to cover his jump as more of a weird wiggle-squirm and wrangle the phone from his pocket.

_Need help. Waiting in the parking lot._

Well, Derek was never one for burying the lead.

_In class. Define ‘help’._

_The type of ‘help’ where there’s a body bleeding on my backseat that smells like saltwater and death, and I need to get it to Deaton._

_That’s uncomfortably specific._

A picture arrived, showing not only a very angry eyebrow, but also a body bleeding on Derek’s backseat, clothing drenched in water and what looked like blue blood.

Stiles gagged, covering it with a coughing fit, and shoved everything into his bag, making a show of clutching at his throat as he hurried for the door.

The teacher called after him to check in with the nurse, but Stiles was already booking it to the parking lot, the black Camaro idling by the main doors.

He ripped the passenger-side door open and threw himself inside, glaring at Derek.

“I was in _class_.”

“You’re in my car now, though,” he shrugged ( _with his_ eyebrows _, how even—_ ). “Buckle up, we gotta go.”

“Why are you _like this_?” Stiles growled; wrestling with his seatbelt as Derek pulled out of the parking lot. “How did you even _get_ a body in the back of your car— _why is she bleeding_? Do you know her or something? Why do you need help with this, you’re built like a _brick house_ —”

“Stiles, shut up!” Derek interrupted, pointing them toward the animal clinic. “If she wakes up, you are going to regret it.”

“ _What is she_?” the rational part of his brain was catching up, fumbling for his phone, ready to tell Deaton what or who they were bringing to him. “What happened?”

“Dangerous and dying,” Derek snapped back. “She just showed up like this—collapsed on my doorstep.”

“Dangerous and dying isn’t a type of creature!” Stiles yelled. “It’s usually what we _want_ monsters to be!”

“Keep your voice _down_ ,” Derek growled. “You wake her up and she starts screaming, you are going to wish you’d stayed in class.”

“What? What, what is she, she a banshee?” Stiles did lower his voice, but kept questioning as he typed a poorly spelled message to the vet. “Why’s a banshee bleeding on your backseat?”

“She’s not a banshee,” Derek glanced over to check on her, shaking his head. “She’s—she’s a lot worse than a banshee.”

“Worse than a—well then what _is_ she?” he brandished his phone at Derek. “Deaton needs to know.”

“Tell him to get a bath of saltwater ready,” Derek grumbled. “And prep to remove some pullets.”

Stiles grumbled out as he typed, “We had a _deal_ , no supernatural needs on my first week of college—there are other things I need to focus on—I can’t fake a coughing fit every time you get a body in—“

“Coughing fit? Really?” Derek interjected unhelpfully.

“You come up with a way to escape a lecture class with 70 other freshman while a _sour-faced werewolf tries to tell you how to live your life.”_

Derek made no comment, instead pushing more fervently on the gas pedal.

“Deaton said he’s get the surgery prepped,” Stiles whispered finally, checking his phone after a few awkward minutes of silence.

“Thanks,” Derek whispered back. “I needed someone to let him know what was going on—I asked Scott first, but he’s in the middle of tryouts; Lydia’s giving a presentation today and couldn’t stop part way through… You weren’t my first call, Stiles.”

Stiles sank guiltily into his seat, fiddling with his phone as silence surrounded them again.

“What I’m saying, is—I hadn’t forgotten about our deal,” Derek continued. “I just ran out of options.”

“No, no, I—you were right to ask,” Stiles scrubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry for lashing out.”

“Sorry for making you leave class,” Derek replied. “I wouldn’t have asked if it weren’t important.”

Stiles wanted to say something else ( _hell if he knew what though_ ), but they pulled into the lot of the clinic, and Deaton was already waiting by the door for them.

“Door,” Derek instructed, climbing out as Stiles fumbled with his belt and door handle.

They managed to haul her out of the car without too much difficulty, Derek lifting her into his arms, as Stiles closed up the car and held the door as Deaton led them inside.

“What are we dealing with?” he asked, leading them back into the surgery, already inspecting her as Derek gently laid her on the table.

“Two gunshot wounds, chest and abdomen,” Derek rattled off. “We need to get them out before we put her in the water.”

“Salt water?” Stiles prompted. “Why salt water?”

Deaton started to cut her shirt open, instructing them to hold her down. She whimpered as they grabbed her shoulders and legs, holding her still as Deaton inspected the wounds.

“Do you know what kind of bullets these are?”

“Silver, I can smell it,” Derek’s voice was a low growl. “Just get them out.”

“Hold her still,” Deaton nodded.

Stiles adjusted his hold on her, trying not to stare at the cobalt blood slowly gushing from the wounds. Her hair was blond, ending in a sunset peach, and she had intricate tattoos on her arms and shoulders, like a collar. Something about them made Stiles stare, almost pulling him physically closer.

Deaton slowly removed the bullets, dumping them into a tray, rinsing the wounds to ensure there was no additional tearing, glancing back at Derek.

“I should stitch these…”

“She’ll be fine once she’s in the water,” Derek interrupted. “She’ll heal.”

Deaton let out a frustrated sigh, but nodded, pushing the tub closer to the table, “On three, lift and put her in.”

Derek looked to Stiles, nodding, “One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

They lifted her in as smooth a motion as possible, shifting to lay her into the water.

“Push her head under,” Derek barked.

“ _What_?” Stiles stared at him. “I didn’t agree to drowning girls, supernatural or otherwise, that was _never_ —“

“Stiles, just do it!”

Stiles did it.

He looked Derek in the eye and pushed her under, a growl of his own forming, despite his best attempts to quiet it. Derek held his gaze for a moment, a small nod of thanks given before the wolf returned his attention to the girl in the tub.

“Feel like telling me what’s going on _now_?” Stiles pressed, still staring at Derek.

“What’s it look like?”

“It _looks like_ someone _dragged me out of class_ to shove some girl underwater after helping hold her down while _silver bullets_ were—“ he looked down and immediately stopped his tirade.

Scales had sprung up over her skin, shimmering blues and greens, and gills had begun to sprout on her neck.

“Oh, what the _hell_ ,” Stiles stared as her legs began to merge and sprout into a tail. “Is she a mermaid? Did you find a _mermaid_ on your doorstep? Why didn’t you just _say so_ , man, what— _who is she_? Why are mermaids turning up at your place with bullet wounds in the first place?”

“She’s not a mermaid,” Derek explained ( _ ~~far too~~_ ) calmly. “She’s a siren.”

“Like, _siren_ , siren? The singing, seducing, Sinbad-and-the-seven-seas _siren_?” Stiles looked pointedly at her tail. “Cause I don’t remember them _having tails_.”

“She—it’s because she’s not controlling the shift,” Derek sighed. “It’s complicated, but that—that’s not the point.”

“What is, then?!” Stiles demanded. “Please, Derek, I beg of you, _get to the point_.”

“Her name is Cali,” he whispered. “And she was— _is_ —part of the Hale pack.”

“A siren is part of your pack? A _siren_?”

“You’re a part of my pack and you’re a human, what’s your point?”

“I don’t have a tail!”

“Technically, neither does Derek,” Deaton added, interrupting the argument before it could continue further. “Sirens are rare, Stiles, even on the coast—it’s not unusual for one to join another group of supernatural beings. They’re powerful, loyal, and as you just witnessed, very hard to kill.”

“But _when_ did she join?” Stiles began pacing. “Did I miss something as big as _a siren joining your pack_ the day I had orientation, or something?”

“Before the fire,” Derek managed, looking back at her. “When I was just a kid, she—my mother brought her into the pack when she found her stuck in a trap in the woods. She sang my mother out to her—no siren had ever charmed my mother before, certainly not from that distance…so she took her in. Cali was barely more than a kid then, too—we grew up together.”

There was a long moment of silence as Stiles got his thoughts in order, still pacing.

“Okay, okay, you said they were loyal, yeah?” he looked to Deaton for confirmation, and then turned to Derek. “So why haven’t I ever met her?”

“She—she was being hunted,” Derek sighed. “The fire, she—she thought it was meant for her. She went on the run. I heard from her, over the years, but I haven’t actually _seen_ her in a long time… too long.”

“Then why is she here?” Stiles asked, gripping the edges of the tub. “Why did she turn up _now?_ That never ends well for us, Derek, people turning up unexplained. Especially not with bullets in their torso!”

“I didn’t exactly have a chance to ask,” Derek bit out.

“Well maybe you should have—“ Stiles broke off into a sigh. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just—I don’t like this. I don’t like not knowing things. I don’t like random not-mermaids turning up unexpectedly.”

“I trust her,” Derek sighed. “If she’s back here, it’s for a reason—she wouldn’t just turn up like this unless there was something important going on.”

“You said she’s been gone for _years_ , how can you trust—“

“She stayed in contact,” Derek interrupted him, a snarl edging into the words as he gripped the edge of the tub and stared down at her, knuckles white with the strain. “She was never out of reach, not if I needed her—even just advice, she was always a call away… but she was keeping her distance, in case the hunters that were after her came after me and mine, too.”

“So you’ve just, what, never thought to mention her?” Stiles wanted to sound less childish than he knew he did, but there was only so much a non-supernatural-entity could handle on his first Thursday of college. “ _Ever_. In the _years_ we’ve known you.”

“I was trying to protect her,” Derek did snarl that time, eyes flashing red for a second as he glared up at Stiles. “Sirens are _rare_ , Stiles—rarer than almost any other creature, if word of her got out, there’s no telling what could have happened to her, or me, or the rest of you. I was trying to protect _all of us_.”

“Then why now, why bring me along if this is such a big secret?”

Stiles knew the answer already, he’d known the answer to that question since the first time he saved Derek’s life, since the first time Derek had returned the favor—he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it ( _needed to hear it_ ), so he asked it anyway. He stared down his Alpha and asked the question he knew the answer to because he needed the reassurance that came from the phrase every time it slipped past Derek’s lips.

And Derek knew it. He always knew, with Stiles—knew why he asked and what he wanted to hear ( _needed to hear_ ), and he answered the question they both knew didn’t have to be asked.

“Because I trust you, Stiles.”

Stiles nodded, his heart slowing to more of a trot than all-out gallop against his ribs, running a hand through his hair as he looked back down into the tub, a long, shaky breath blown out as he shook his head.

“I wanted one normal week, and this is what I get: Secret Mermaids.”

“At least there’s nothing trying to kill us,” Derek shrugged ( _with his eyebrows again, how did he_ do that).

“I can keep her here overnight, if you want,” Deaton spoke, reminding Stiles that there was a fourth person in the room, and he’d almost had a panic attack in front of them. “I’ll update you on any changes. Or you can stay and keep an eye on her yourself.”

“Either way, I need a ride back to school,” Stiles tried for casual, and managed somehow to get to accusing. “I still have a few classes I haven’t missed.”

“I’ll drive you back,” Derek offered, nodding to Deaton. “Call me if anything changes—I’ll be back after I drop Stiles off.”

Deaton nodded, setting about putting his surgery back in order as Derek motioned for Stiles to follow him, leading them back through the front office to where Derek had left the car, engine still running.

“You might want to change your shirt, too,” Stiles put in, throwing himself gracelessly into the passenger’s seat. “You’ve got blood all over you.”

“I’ll worry about it after I get you back,” Derek pulled out of the lot, pausing for a moment before he pulled onto the road to look Stiles over, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. “Thank you, Stiles… I’m sorry I messed up your Week of Normal.”

Stiles both heard and appreciated the appropriate capitalization Derek had used.

“Sorry for losing my shit over surprise mermaids,” Stiles shrugged, looking away from Derek and back to his bloody hands. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You should try to clean up,” Derek instructed, pulling onto the main road. “There’s wipes in the glovebox—try to get some of that blood off your hands.”

“Thanks.”

Stiles rummaged through the other clutter in the glovebox before he pulled the small packet of wipes out, fumbling with them for a moment before he got them open, pulling a few free to wipe at his hands. The blue smudged and smeared, more like ink than blood, and he hoped he could explain the stains away as an unfortunate pen incident.

“What do I call her?” he prompted after his hands were mostly clean, the wipes nearly gone. “I can’t say she’s a siren, right? So what do I call her?”

“Mermaid works,” Derek shrugged. “Or, you could not say anything—play dumb and pretend you don’t know.”

“Ah, yes, my strongest suit,” Stiles joked, picking at the blood under his fingernails absently. “Playing dumb, perfect, got that one in the bag.”

“You’re terrible at it,” Derek snorted. “You’re too smart.”

Stiles, in any other circumstance, would have ribbed Derek endlessly for the compliment that had just been given ( _Derek had called him scrawny, reckless, even fragile—but he never commented on the boy’s brain like that which always made Stiles proud_ ). He’d just called him smart—and not normal smart, either— _too smart_. Too smart to play dumb. Too smart for people to believe he didn’t know what was going on. Too smart to pass as anything other than what he was: _too damn smart_.

Instead, he let the compliment sink in, and changed tacks, _too smart_ to ruin the moment that had happened with a sassy comment about it.

“Mermaid? Really? Aren’t they rare too?”

“Well, yes…”

“Then no, I’m not saying that,” Stiles went into planning mode, plucking another wipe from the pack to finish scrubbing the blood from the beds of his nails. “What’s a common something-or-other I could claim she is? Werewolf?”

“She doesn’t transform.”

“Banshee?”

“Lydia would see right through that.”

“Vampire?”

“Loves the sun.”

“Well what _doesn’t_ she love?”

Derek was silent for a long moment, eyes darting about as his brain went into top gear, trying to come up with a convincing story to tell his pack ( _all of whom would know something was up, but would trust Derek enough to believe, even if they didn’t_ really _believe it_ ).

“Succubus?” Stiles put forth, secretly pleased when it earned a chuckle.

“No, she’d hate that—how about just psychic?”

“ _Just_ psychic?”

“They’re not that uncommon, they have insight into things, even hypnotize people—it would work.”

“Okay, psychic,” Stiles nodded. “Psychic, psychic, Cali’s a psychic; Cali’s a psychic and she’s part of the pack— _psychic_ , she’s _just_ a _psychic_.”

“We’ll have a meeting over the weekend, if she’s awake then,” Derek continued after Stiles was finished with his third round of repetition, beating the idea into his brain. “I’ll tell the pack what’s going on—but until then, don’t tell anyone about her, alright? Not even Scott.”

“Alright, alright, I won’t tell anyone about Cali the psychic,” Stiles nodded again as they pulled up in front of the school. “Do you think you can make it through the rest of the day without needing me?”

“Probably?” Derek’s unsure tone was belied by the tiny grin he threw Stiles’ way. “Go on, get to class.”

Stiles paused with his hand on the door handle, a million things he wanted to say whizzing through his head, and only one of them managing to escape.

“I’m glad I could help, Derek,” he found himself saying, much to his surprise. “My Week of Normal can wait, if you need me to help again.”

He paused again, looking Derek in the eye, waiting for another request, a command, a laugh or a growl, _anything_ to tell him what he needed to do.

“Get to class,” Derek repeated, softer this time, a tiny little smile tugging up a corner of his mouth as he nodded toward the school. “I’ll let you know if something comes up.”

And that was it, that was all Stiles needed to climb from the car, wrangle his bag out and onto his shoulders, and hurry toward the school as he tried to rewire his brain back to school, and subjects, and which hall his next lecture was in ( _Avery? Ashby? No, no,_ Arthur _)._ It was the directive, the order, and the gentle reassurance that he was needed and important, and that he _would_ be Derek’s first call this time, if something happened.

They’d had a deal, that was true, but Stiles was more than capable of rewriting sections of it on the fly as needed. After all, he was too smart not to.

* * *

It wasn’t until Saturday, though, that anything really interesting happened.

Thursday ended without much more excitement—a text from Derek letting Stiles know that Cali was stabilized gave him all the answers he needed to focus on getting through the next day of school—and Friday was ( _thank all the stars_ ) a half-day for him, with his classes ending around noon and the rest of the day to do whatever he wanted.

He chose to dive ( _no pun initially intended, but eventually admitted and accepted_ ) into the lore of sirens, shutting himself up in his room in the Pack House with piles of lore books and several illuminated texts that Lydia had translated with raised eyebrows and left for him to peruse.

Friday was his day, usually, to catch up on homework, but since it was only the first week of class, he had finished any and all reading assignments a few hours after they had been given, and was free to stay up into the wee hours of the morning choking on dust from age-old scrolls and wondering what he was doing with his life that _this was his chosen way to spend Friday night_.

Saturday, however, came with much needed change, and as always, Peter’s cooking.

It had begun as a joke, a bet that Peter had lost to Derek and had to make good on, cooking the Pack breakfast one Saturday morning, all of them congregating in Derek’s loft to curl up on cushions and blankets strewn about the floor, half awake and still in pajamas as Peter made the most delicious smelling waffles Stiles had ever had the pleasure to consume.

The overwhelming success of said waffles ( _and the sausages and eggs he had made to go with them_ ) led to the instigation of a tradition which Peter now begrudgingly upheld: ever Saturday, the Pack would wander their way into Derek’s loft, and Peter would have breakfast waiting for them.

Stiles, still trying to tell if he had ink staining his face or not, stumbled into the loft and collapsed next to Scott, who was laughing at something Isaac had just said.

“Dude, you okay?” he prompted, ruffling Stiles’ hair as he glanced to the brunet sprawled beside him.

“Peachy,” Stiles mumbled into the pillow he had managed to aim for and not miss. “Side of keen, you might even say. Stellar. Spectacular. Out of this _blessed world_.”

“Couldn’t sleep?” Scott interpreted, pushing him over onto his back so he could grin down at him. “What were you up doing?”

“Reading,” Stiles deflected. “You know, research, stuff like that. The good old—why are there no waffles?”

He sat straight up, looking to the table at the other end of the loft in vain, met with nothing but an empty tablecloth.

“I did not suffer through sleep deprivation and the ancient Latin equivalent of a racy story to wake up to _no waffles_ ,” he turned to Scott, as though he somehow had answers. “ _Where are the waffles, Scott_?”

“Peter said breakfast would be a little late,” Isaac answered for him. “Said something about unexpected guests?”

Okay, okay, that made sense—siren’s dropping onto your doorstep near death could put a dent in the whole plan to make waffles for a Pack of hungry teens, but also _where were the waffles_.

Stiles picked himself up as Allison entered, throwing the table an equally nonplussed look as she folded her arms and growled.

“Where’s the waffles?”

“That’s what I said!” Stiles strutted toward the spiral staircase, determined to discover what the holdup was. “Hang on, I’ll run recon.”

“If you find a sausage, bring it back to me,” Isaac called after him. “I’m starting to see Scott as just a giant patty—it’s not flattering or healthy.”

The ensuing tussle drowned out whatever Allison said in response, and Stiles booked it up the stairs.

At the top he found the usual suspects, Derek and Peter, muttering about something over the island in the kitchen, both freezing when they heard his footsteps on the stairs.

“I have been assigned recon, and I have been requested to retrieve a sausage for Isaac. The troops are getting antsy and I really don’t want to see what Isaac is willing to do to keep from going hungry,” Stiles looked pointedly at Peter. “Where the waffles, Waffle Man?”

“Cooking,” Peter spat back, his usual level of venom dialed up a notch by what Stiles could only assume was a lack of food or coffee or both. “Along with the sausages, Isaac will just have to wait.”

“Scott might not make it.”

“Good.”

Derek threw his uncle a look, and Peter smiled, returning his attention to the stove and the _heavenly_ sausages that were cooking there.

“You tell Stiles about our little visitor?” Peter prompted.

“Yes,” Derek folded his arms, ready to defend the decision.

“Good,” Peter threw Stiles a look. “Did you tell him about how he’s going to want to get in her pants as soon as he lays eyes on her?”

“Wait, I’m going to what, now?” Stiles blinked at the older man. “But I’ve already seen her, and I did no such thing.”

“You saw her unconscious, it’s a very different experience,” Peter smiled, but there was an edge to it that Stiles didn’t like. “Resist the temptation.”

“Who’s resisting what, now?”

All three of the men turned to look at the blond that had just entered the room, peach-tipped hair pulled back into a wavy ponytail, over-sized shirt sliding off one shoulder.

Stiles opened his mouth to say something, and then recognized the shirt, and shut his mouth again.

That was Derek’s shirt.

To be specific, it was Derek’s soft heather gray Henley that Stiles distinctly remembered finding in his wash one day and having weird guilty feelings about it because Derek never let anyone wear his clothes, and Stiles had sort of borrowed it without permission and had to hide it because _Derek never let anyone borrow his clothes_.

 _Ever_.

Isaac had walked home shirtless one night after an attempt to stop a rampaging Omega had rendered him without shirt or coat—and there had been _so much blood_ everywhere _,_ on _everything,_ Stiles had thrown up on Scott, who had _also walked home shirtless_ because Derek had refused to let them borrow a shirt ( _even though he had extras in the back of his car and they all knew it_ ).  Even _Peter_ wasn’t allowed to borrow Derek’s clothes, and now here Cali was, parading about in the thing.

Stiles didn’t have the gut reaction to get in her pants that Peter had described. Instead, his immediate reaction was to get _jealous_ , and he wasn’t even really sure why. It started like a prickle at the back of his neck and pretty soon there was an itch that was running down his spine and making his fingers clench as the only desire he had was to rip the shirt off her and run off with it which was _weird and dumb what the hell, Stiles_.

“Stiles, resisting you,” Derek informed her, glancing back at the brunet by the stairs. “You okay?”

“What? Me? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, totally fine,” he cleared his throat, glancing frantically between all three of them. “Why would you even ask that? Of course I’m fine; nothing to see here.”

“He’s fine,” Cali grinned, looking to Derek. “No desire on him.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Peter muttered to the sausages. “Cali, why don’t you do us all a favor and just get the introductions out of the way. I won’t have our token human panting after you for the duration—it’s distracting.”

“Ignore him,” Cali stepped forward and offered Stiles her hand. “It’s a pleasure—Derek talks about you a lot—I’m glad I can finally meet you. Thank you for helping get me to Deaton—must have been awkward.”

“Pushing an unconscious girl underwater while she was bleeding out? Nah, totally normal Thursday, around here.”

She laughed.

She _laughed at his joke_.

Who was this magical creature?

“Derek was right, you are funny,” she shook his hand, looking him over more closely than he liked. “So, about Peter’s warning, usually people do want to get in my pants the first chance they get, but not always. Sometimes I’m not someone’s type.”

She winked, and thank _god_ Derek didn’t see it because there was a knowing look on Cali’s face and Stiles did not like it.

“So, don’t worry about it, not everyone has the overwhelming urge to run off with me at the first opportunity, despite popular belief,” she grinned, and he realized she was taking this about as seriously as Derek seemed to be, which was to say, not at all. “Honestly it’s fine—Peter’s overprotective.”

“Shut up, Cal,” Peter groused, this time to the scrambled eggs.

“Make me, Hale,” she shot back.

There was something about her voice that seemed to echo around the kitchen for a moment, the words almost sounding in the air more slowly than she had actually said them. They hung in the air long after her lips stopped moving, like there was an audio delay or the framerate was out of sync, and Stiles watched Peter’s back go ramrod straight as he grabbed a sausage from a plate and flung it right at Cali.

She caught it in her mouth, munching happily, and the weird word-echo instantly vanished, time speeding back up to its proper framerate.

“Okay, _what_ ,” Stiles stared at Cali. “Did you just _give him a command_?”

“That’s my superpower,” she said around her mouthful. “I can do all sorts of stuff like that.”

“ _That’s nuts_ ,” he gushed, face lighting up as he looked between a very ruffled Peter and their guest. “What else can you do? Is it just werewolves? Can you do it on anyone? What about other sirens, can you do it to them? And, like, how does it _work_ , do they have to be looking at you, or is it just auditory? Can you do that over the phone or through a recording? Does it have to be live and in-person? What about deaf people, can you do things to them too, or not?”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Peter snapped. “Shut up.”

“You shut up; this is all new and exciting for me!”

“Okay, okay, one question at a time,” Cali laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “And only after Peter’s had coffee.”

“Yes, right, over breakfast,” the shirt smelled like Derek, too, and the jealous itch was back with a _vengeance_. “Got it. Can I carry something down? I should carry something down.”

“Grab the waffles,” she instructed with a jerk of her head. “I’ll get the sausages.”

“No stealing any,” Derek interjected, scooping up the eggs as Peter corralled the coffee pot and creamer. “Otherwise Isaac is going to eat Scott and no one wants to clean that mess up.”

“Walk as slowly as you like,” Peter chimed in. “Go on, take your time.”

Stiles ignored him in favor of paying attention to the stairs, earning a cheer of excitement as he finally touched down on the main floor of the loft, Isaac and Scott both bolting over.

“ _Finally_ ,” Isaac groaned. “What took—”

He trailed off when he saw Cali behind Stiles, eyes shifting to yellow as he took a step back, a growl on his lips.

“Easy,” Derek spoke up. “She’s Pack.”

“Haven’t seen her before,” Isaac replied, holding her gaze, his eyes still yellow. “Who is she?”

“Cali,” she introduced herself. “Old family friend.”

“I can confirm, she is in fact, very old,” Peter put in, earning a smack from Cali. “Also I can confirm that she is a family friend. Pre-fire.”

“Cali?” Scott’s voice came out like the rumble of an engine, his eyes shifted to yellow as well, and Stiles wondered if this was the reaction Peter had been thinking Stiles would have as well. “Cali who?”

“Cali Hale,” she grinned. “I took the name when Talia took me in. No real relation, though.”

“Scott, Isaac, calm down,” Derek’s eyes flashed too, and both Betas looked at him expectantly. “She’s one of us, just calm down.”

“Want me to try?” Cali whispered, glancing between the Betas with a frown. “This might get ugly otherwise.”

“They won’t try anything,” Peter’s claws flicked out as he took a half-step in front of Cali, who put a hand on his arm. “Or, if they do, they’ll regret it.”

“Okay, what is going on?” Allison looked to Stiles, who felt about as lost as she looked. “What is she?”

“Psychic?” Stiles offered, sounding unsure even to his own ears.

“Oh, get a grip, Stiles,” Lydia spoke from the doorway, giving all of them a very nonplussed look. “Clearly she’s some sort of sex _something_ , otherwise the Tweedles wouldn’t be reacting like this. Derek even had her wear _his shirt_ so her scent would be masked—the rest of us are _supernatural_ , the least _you_ could do is use your brain.”

“She’s a _what_?” Allison demanded, grabbing Scott’s wrist reflexively. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh man—” Cali laughed, shaking her head. “ _Calm down, all of you._ ”

The word-echo was back, and Stiles turned to look at Cali as she spoke, the words pressing into him almost like a physical touch, a soothing brush down the center of his chest that caused his heart to slow, a dull hum flooding his bones as he breathed more deeply and evenly.

“ _It’s alright_ ,” she was saying, her lips not moving. “ _Just breathe, calm down, it’s fine_.”

It was fine. Of course it was fine. Stiles had never felt more fine in his life. It was totally fine. Everything was alright, and nothing could go wrong. He was perfectly calm, and he could even see Scott and Isaac’s eyes shift back from yellow to their usual colors. Peter’s claws retracted as he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and _wasn’t that a great idea_?

Stiles breathed.

“Okay, what the hell?” Lydia spoke from the doorway. “What was that? Why do I feel like I’m wearing a Mr. Rogers sweater and just got a warm hug from something fuzzy and sweet?”

“That’s a weird way to describe it,” Scott blinked up at Cali. “But yeah, uh, what just happened?”

“I charmed you,” Cali smiled. “It’s kind of my thing. I charm people.”

“ _Why_?”

“Because you were about to wolf out, and Isaac wasn’t far behind,” she took a deep breath and smiled. “And since both of you wanted to get to me first, I’m betting a fist fight would have broken out.”

“What?” Scott looked to Allison, guilt _plainly_ written on his face. “No, no, I would never—I just met you, I wouldn’t, I mean—”

“I would,” Isaac winked at her, and she winked back.

“Watch it, pup,” Peter grumbled. “And Scott, calm down, it happens to everyone.”

Derek sighed deeply as Lydia closed the door and marched over; slapping another translated something onto the table, “She’s a _siren_.”

“A what?” Scott and Allison asked together.

“I sing, I seduce people, I sometimes have a tail,” Cali winked at Derek. “Sorry, looks like they know.”

“This _does not_ leave this room, alright?” Derek glared at his Betas. “Sirens are very rare and are always in danger of being hunted if they’re found out.”

“So, no one else knows about her?” Scott was staring at Cali, and Stiles could practically _hear_ Peter stiffen next to her. “Just us?”

“Just you,” she grinned. “Lucky.”

“So, what do we do?” Isaac prompted, eyes still locked with Cali’s. “She staying?”

“For a while,” Derek nodded. “And for right now, what we do is eat.”

“Thank _god_ , finally,” Stiles let out a breath he had been holding ( _for reasons he did not know_ ). “Waffles, people, there are bigger priorities than her funky superpowers.”

“Really, Stiles?” Lydia looked pointedly between him and the paper she had slapped onto the table. “You _sure_ about that?”

“Yup, pretty sure,” he grinned. “Now move; I have the munchies like you _would not believe_.”

* * *

“So what is Peter’s deal?”

Cali snorted as she took the plate from him, drying it before she stacked it with the rest.

“About what?”

“About you,” Stiles glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “You didn’t have to tell him anything earlier for him to try and protect you from Scott and Isaac, so what’s his deal?”

She was silent for a moment, glancing around the kitchen to make sure they were alone, and then stepped closer to him, their shoulders almost touching ( _through Derrek’s shirt, dammit_ ).

“You know how wolves have anchors? Like, Derek’s is his anger?”

“Scott’s is Allison,” Stiles nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I know about anchors.”

“Peter is mine,” she whispered. “When a siren joins a pack, she brings a lot to the table, and in exchange they gift her with a pack member that she can… anchor herself to.”

“He keeps you from shifting?” Stiles put forth. “Derek said you didn’t—”

“No, no,” she laughed, shaking her head. “No, I—sirens don’t shift. We use our anchors for something else.”

“Then what do they do?”

“They protect us,” she whispered. “They defend us when we need it; they obey our commands, they—they’re bound to us by magic. They anchor us to the pack, and keep us from overstepping, and keep everyone else from overstepping too.”

“So he’s what, you’re guard dog?”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.”

Stiles laughed along with her, handing her another dish for her to dry. She took it and buffed the water away, glancing back at him.

“Go on, I know you’re dying to ask more.”

“How can you _command him_ ,” he hissed out. “Like, _can_ _he say no_?”

“He could, but it’d suck,” she shrugged. “He’s the only one, though—Derek and anyone else in the Hale pack is just… it’s more like a heavy suggestion. I can’t make them do anything they wouldn’t normally do or want to do.”

“So when you told us to calm down?”

“You would have, I just sped up the process,” she shrugged. “I can’t tell you to walk off the roof of a building or stick your finger in an electrical socket. That’s not how it works.”

“But could you do that to Peter?”

“I could, but I wouldn’t,” she smiled. “I like him too much for that.”

“Oh, _oh_ , so you and he are…” Stiles made a nondescript movement with his hands, splashing them both a bit with suds.

“Not for a while,” she whispered. “But I’m more curious about you and Derek, what’s the story there?”

“Story?” Stiles squeaked. “What, there’s no story. No, no story. Not a single shred of a story. Nothing going on there.”

“Un-huh,” she raised her eyebrows at him. “Then why do you _reek_ of jealousy and want?”

“I _what_?”

Stiles instinctively sniffed at his shirt, finding nothing incriminating, and looked back at her, already feeling the heat spreading up onto his cheeks.

“Stiles,” she clapped him on the shoulder, her voice distorting. “ _Don’t lie to me_.”

“I have a stupid huge crush on him, but I don’t think he knows it, and I’m jealous that you’re wearing his clothes because I wish I could do it instead, and _holy crap Stiles shut up_.”

She laughed as he put a hand over his mouth, glaring at her with narrowed eyes.

“I could smell it on you as soon as I walked in,” she teased. “The jealousy was almost _tangible_ in the air. I’m surprised Derek can’t smell it, honestly, but he was never very good at scenting emotions, so I suppose it’s not _entirely_ surprising.”

“I hate you,” he growled, muffled by the hand still over his mouth.

“No you don’t,” she grinned. “And even if you do, you won’t for long.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can get you what you want.”

He side-eyed her as he returned his attention to the dishes, the siren grinning brightly as she took the next plate from him and started to dry it off. She threw him a wink as she leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“I’m going to get you Derek Hale’s heart.”

* * *

Sunday was weird.

Sunday had no right to be weird, Stiles had not requested it, but it decided it was going to be weird regardless.

It started when he wandered into the loft to talk to Cali ( _he hadn’t come up with a topic/excuse yet for the conversation, but he was willing to bet she would come up with something with him)_ , and found her on the couch, her head in Peter’s lap as they both read, the wolf’s fingers idly playing with the ends of her hair.

Stiles, still partly asleep and very prone to daydreaming, instantly imagined what it would be like to be in that position with Derek—his head in Derek’s lap while the Alpha read a book, and Stiles worked on his computer, fingers playing with the ends of his hair, voice a teasing growl as he asked what he was up to—

“ _Stiles_ ,” Peter growled for real that time, shocking the teen from his thoughts. “What do you _want?”_

“Oh,” Cali gave Stiles a very knowing look. “I know what he wants.”

“To talk!” he squawked out. “To, to talk to Cali, I want to talk to Cali—trying to clear up, um, something for myself.”

They both raised signature eyebrows and rolled their eyes dramatically.

Good Lord, it _was_ a family trait.

“So, if that’s cool…” he trailed off, making awkward finger-guns to the couple on the couch.

“Sure, have a seat,” Cali tucked her legs up, patting the free cushion with her foot. “What’s your question?”

“Oh, uh,” Stiles perched on the edge of the cushion, looking pointedly at Peter. “I was more thinking we could talk in private.”

“Fat chance, boy,” Peter muttered, flicking to the next page for emphasis.

“Peter,” Cali looked up at him, smiling softly. “You call him _the clever one_ , cut him some slack.”

There was no magic in the words, no command, but Peter sighed and closed his book, looking pointedly back to Stiles, an eyebrow still arched. Cali adjusted her position to look up at him as well, setting her book onto her stomach ( _she was wearing Peter’s shirt today, Stiles was pleased—and relieved—to notice)._

“Okay,” Stiles preened slightly, reminding himself that Peter freaking _Hale_ of all people called him _the clever one_. “Okay, um, I wanted to ask about your, uh, offer? From yesterday?”

“Still stands,” Cali grinned. “If you want that.”

“I don’t, if its coerced,” Stiles set down that line in the sand, determined not to budge on it. “I won’t—I won’t take something that’s not… offered of free will.”

Cali’s smile was soft and understanding, and he wondered how many times she had been taken advantage of, before the Hales took her in. He had read horror stories of what happened to lone sirens, without a pack or pod—they never lasted long on their own, in the wild.

“It would be,” she spoke softly, pulling him away from darker thoughts. “Free will, I mean—I can’t… I can’t order just anyone. It’d be a nudge. And if he wanted to do it, he would. I wouldn’t be forcing his hand in any way, other than a suggestion to talk. That’s it.”

“Stiles, if you’re planning to make a move on my nephew, I will go ahead and tell you that he is the _dullest tool in the shed_ when it comes to scenting emotions,” Peter put in casually. “Why do you think he drilled it into everyone _else’s_ heads?”

“Okay, can you not say things like ‘make a move’, it’s really disconcerting,” Stiles interjected.

“What would you prefer I call it, seducing?”

“What, no!”

“Going to bone?”

“Oh, my God,” Stiles hid his face in his hands. “Please stop, Cali, make him stop.”

“Peter,” she must have smacked him, cause Stiles heard an impact and a huff of breath. “You’re gonna kill him before they ever have the chance to copulate—“

“Holy _shit—can you not_ ,” Stiles burst out, his face a vivid shade of red as he looked back to them both. “Seriously, _nothing is going to happen_.”

“You want something to happen, though, don’t you?” Peter asked, eyebrows hiking up his forehead. “Derek might be bad at scenting emotions, Stiles, but I assure you I have no such difficulty. You _reek of it_ whenever he’s around.”

“R-reek of what?” Stiles didn’t actually want to know, but he found himself asking regardless.

“Desire,” they spoke in unison, Cali grinned up at him as Peter spat the word at him like a pit.

“So, I’m going to poke Derek to talk to you, and you can do what you like with that,” Cali winked. “Or do what you like with him, whichever comes first.”

“He will, obviously,” Peter put in without missing a beat.

“Says the man who shuts up his siren with a _sausage in her mouth_ ,” Stiles shot back. “The breakfast kind the only one you use to—”

Stiles jumped from his seat as Peter started to surge to his feet, the teen dodging around the back of the couch and ready to bolt for the door.

“ _Peter_ ,” Cali snapped. “ _Leave him alone_.”

Peter looked like he was trying to fight the command, the muscles in his jaw and neck jumping with the strain as he clenched his fists and teeth, eyes flaring bright blue as he glared at Stiles.

“ _Breathe_ ,” Cali instructed, sitting up to catch his eye. “ _Calm down, Peter, please_.”

Stiles found his own pulse calming as he listened to the words echo around the space between them, and Peter took a deep breath as he relaxed, hands loosening as they fell back to his sides.

“Thank you," Cali whispered, reaching out to take his hands and pull him back to the couch. “Sit, come on, sit down. Breathe, it’s okay.”

He did as instructed, even without being commanded directly, and Stiles inched back to his seat.

“I thought it was funny,” Cali winked at Stiles, who managed a weak chuckle. “Peter used to get a lot of shit for his position from other pack members. Still a touchy subject.”

“I think it’s kind of cool,” Stiles shrugged. “Doing that sort of thing for someone, that’s—that’s kind of huge.”

“He volunteered,” Cali grinned, looking back to the Beta with a smirk. “Glutton for punishment.”

“Shut up, Cali,” he groused.

“Make me, Hale.”

There was another flash of his eyes as he looked at her, and Stiles was fairly certain if he hadn’t been sitting on the other end of the couch, Peter would have pinned her to it, and— _oh shit the daydreaming was starting again, no, no, no—_

Derek pining him to the couch, stubble dragging against his neck while he whispered filthy things into his ear, teeth sharp and dragging against his ear as the growling voice rasped out just what the Alpha planned to do to him, all the while hands exploring under his layers and layers as he bucked his hips up, desperate for contact, friction, desperate for _Derek_ —

“Stiles?” Cali prompted, and Stiles leapt from the couch with a squeak. “You okay? You were mumbling—“

“Do people always get vivid daydreams around you?” he interrupted, folding his arms, finding it didn’t help, and shoving them back into his pockets. “Cause _wow_.”

“Side effect,” Peter frowned at him, his calculating expression surfacing as his eyes narrowed. “It’s not common, but it can happen—especially to people who aren’t effected by Cali’s… _aura_ , if you will.”

“ _Great_ ,” Stiles breathed out, tipping his head back to stare at the boring ceiling with its boring details that were so perfectly boring they kept his heart from leaping from his chest. “Just great.”

“Sorry,” Cali mumbled, and it sounded like she meant it. “I can try to keep a distance?”

“No, it’s fine,” Stiles took a deep breath, closed his eyes ( _found out that was even worse than folding his arms_ ), opened them again, and looked back to the couple on the couch. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for the talk, but I should really go take a long walk or a cold shower, or something.”

Peter snorted as Cali laughed and waved him toward the door, “Be safe, Stiles.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks,” he nodded to her, still in a daze. “I’ll try.”

He— _somehow_ —got back to his room unscathed and flopped onto his bed, staring up at the boring ceiling some more to keep his mind from daydreams and mental traps that involved being pinned to or pressed against various pieces of furniture and locations throughout the building. The couch in the loft, the plush bed in Stiles’ room, the wall just inside the doorway to the stairs, the landing at the bottom, the _stairs themselves, even_.

He groaned and rubbed a hand over his face, wishing away the onslaught of images that came rushing to him as he thought of the balcony and all that glass.

He was saved any further embarrassment by a knock on his door and a frantic Scott hurrying in.

“Dude, you have to help me!” he began without waiting to hear a _come in_. “I have that science thing due tomorrow and I didn’t have a chance to look over it before now and you _have to help me_ , dude.”

“Scott, it’s a chapter test,” Stiles stared at him. “It covers, what, ten pages? Twelve?”

“…thirteen.”

“Get the fuck out.”

“Come on, man, please!”

“Scott, it’s _a chapter test_.”

“It’s my first test in the class and I need help, please?” he turned on the signature puppy eyes that Stiles _hated_. “Please? I’ll help you with any of your classes you need, promise.”

“Okay, fine, but I’ll hold you to that,” Stiles sighed, sitting up, actually thankful for a distraction that was not tall, dark, and brooding. “Come on, what’s the chapter on?”

“Uh, chemical bonding.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Stiles clapped him on the shoulder. “Just, in advance, know that I love you, and I will not forget you—I promise to remember you, even after this class _wastes you_.”

“Shut up and help me.”

“Okay, okay, open up your book, let’s do this thingy.”

Scott launched into a speech that Stiles only half-listened to, the rest of his brain cataloging all the places he wanted to be accosted by Derek so he could pass them on to Cali, in case she needed ammo to slide into her suggestion.

 _Talk to him_ and _Talk to him in the stairwell_ were near identical suggestions, but one had a much better probable end outcome, while the other was much more vanilla.

Stiles, though many may have argued otherwise, did not want a vanilla life.

Especially not when it came to tall, dark, and brooding.

* * *

Monday, thankfully, was blissfully normal.

Stiles went to class, answered questions, turned in homework, and generally had a totally normal time of it.

The rest of the week even followed suit. There were no emergencies that required his immediate attention on the supernatural front, and whenever he came back to the Pack House, things were much the same—with the addition of a siren.

A siren who, Stiles did not fail to notice, continued to share little asides with Derek and then wink at Stiles moments later, and he _wanted to know but also didn’t, dammit_.

Cali stayed almost exclusively in Derek’s loft, but when she did venture out—shopping with Lydia, training with Allison, hunting with Scott and Isaac, even research with Deaton—she was always accompanied by Peter. The wolf was never far from her side, and on more than one occasion she had to command him to stay behind ( _“You can’t go with us to the dressing room, Peter”—“Watch me.”—“I’ll watch you dragged out by security is what I’ll watch.”)_.

And then Friday came, and Stiles reveled in the knowledge that he would be able to go home early, enjoy an evening of TV and Pack shenanigans, and then sleep in till Peter’s scrumptious waffles woke him from his blissful sleep.

That was the plan, anyway, until psyche class.

Because _of course it was psyche class_.

They were just beginning a conversation on the flight-or-fight response when the anxiety slammed into Stiles like a freight train. His hands started shaking, his vision darkening and blurring out at the edges, and he couldn’t breathe.

It came out of nowhere, and Stiles had no planned counter to it, gripping the edges of his desk till is knuckles turned white, opening his mouth slightly to try and force breath into his lungs. When none came he closed his eyes tight and managed a tiny, wheezing sort of cough, forcing his lungs to take in air.

“Ma’am, can I take Stiles to the nurse?” Lydia’s voice came from _miles_ away. “He looks—”

“Yes, go ahead,” the teacher waved them toward the door. “You can collect your things later, no problem.”

Lydia coaxed his fingers away from the edges of the desk and wove their fingers together, pulling him from the room and down the hall to an abandoned lab workroom.

“No nurse,” he whispered, more to confirm what Lydia seemed to already be doing, then to correct her.

“I’m going to get Cali,” she responded. “Is that alright?”

Stiles nodded.

It was more than alright, it was _perfect_. There was nothing he wanted more right now than her telling him it would be alright, soothing him, calming him down, getting him to breathe more than every ten seconds or so when his lungs screamed and he remembered to inhale and then let it out a few seconds later.

Lydia kept hold of his hand, the other wrangling her phone and tapping out a message. Her thumb ran over his knuckles at measured intervals, grounding him, and he did his best to match each swipe with a breath, either in or out.

All sense of time left Stiles as he stood in the darkened room and held Lydia’s hand, his gaze trained to the patterned linoleum beneath his sneakers.

“Stiles?”

Cali’s voice was the next thing he heard, lifting his gaze to find hers, aquamarine eyes glowing softly as her voice echoed around the room.

“ _You’re alright_ ,” she spoke softly. “ _Just breathe, Stiles, you’re going to be fine_.”

He breathed, deep and even, holding her gaze as he began to relax, giving a tiny nod to let her know it was working.

“That’s it, good,” she smiled, and it was the second most beautiful one he’d ever seen. “Good, _breathe_.”

He kept breathing, the ringing in his ears starting to quiet, Lydia’s hand slowly leaving his, replaced by one warmer and broader, covered in calluses— _Derek’s hand_.

“Hey, you’re okay,” Derek spoke to him, a hand on his back, voice soft and low in his ear. “You’re with me, Stiles, you’re safe.”

Stiles _was_ safe, he knew it, knew they would never let anything happen to him. He pressed into the touch and relaxed even further, taking another deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“Lydia is going to get your bags,” Derek continued softly. “I’m gonna take you home, okay? Cali’s going to handle your teachers.”

“I should stay.”

The response was immediate, and even Stiles knew it was a lie. Even if he did come down from this in time for his next class, there was no telling what the trigger had been, or even whether it would happen again. Home was safer, for all of them, he realized as soon as Cali’s eyes flashed again, her voice echoing into his head.

“ _You should go home, Stiles_ ,” she pressed, putting a hand on his shoulder, smiling softly. “You need to rest.”

“I know.”

“Come on, let’s get you home,” Derek prompted softly, voice almost a whisper. “Can you walk?”

Stiles was fairly certain he couldn’t, but the alternative was for Derek to carry him, and he was _positive_ he wouldn’t survive that, so he bobbed his head in a nod, and then shook it when he tried to take a step, and only managed to shuffle forward a few inches.

“Stiles, look at me,” Cali prompted, taking his face in her hands, smiling as her eyes glowed again. “ _You can do this. You just need to make it to the car. You’re light as a feather, Stiles, you can walk there. It’s not far at all. You can do this._ ”

Of course Stiles could do this, it was just a walk to the car. It couldn’t be far at all, really, they weren’t in one of the big lecture halls near the back of the building, they were practically at the front doors. He could do this.

Before he realized it, he had already taken several steps, Derek’s hand still in his, leading him toward the door as Cali nodded to them both.

“ _Take care of him_ ,” she continued.

Stiles was fairly certain there was no need for the suggestion, but then it washed over him too, and he looked to Derek, the Alpha’s eyes glowing red as he gave Stiles his full attention and _oh_.

He needed to take care of Derek, too.

Stiles gave the hand in his a squeeze and gave a small nod, continuing toward the doors, and the muscle in Derek’s jaw that had been jumping with the strain settled as he nodded back, returning his attention to getting Stiles to his car and back to the house.

Stiles only remembered snatches of what happened next, getting into the car ( _with Derek’s help_ ), getting up to their floor of the building ( _with Derek’s help_ ), getting into his room ( _with Derek’s help_ ), getting out of his shoes ( _with Derek’s help_ ), getting onto the bed ( _with Derek’s fucking help_ ), and then sitting there staring at Derek as the Alpha knelt in front of him and looked like he’d gotten lost between concerned and curious, eyebrows conveying most of his expression as they crinkled together in the center, half-raised and very worried.

Stiles poked the spot between them with a tiny grin, earning a faint growl from Derek.

“Shut up, sour wolf, you love it.”

“I will not deign that with a response.”

“Don’t need to, I know it’s true.”

His heart had calmed its frantic stampede in his chest, and was down to a nice trot, the anxiety ebbing away the longer he sat.

“Stiles?” Derek prompted, the boy’s finger trailing down the Alpha’s nose absently. “Can I get you something?”

“Oh,” he blinked, realizing what he’d just done ( _what stupid, romantic-gesture shit he’d just done, to be specific_ ), and pulled his hand away. “Uhm, water?”

“I can get that,” Derek started to stand, and it was only then that Stiles realized Derek was still holding his hand. “I’m going to let go for a second, okay?”

Stiles nodded, giving another quick squeeze before he let go, watching Derek slip out the door and down the hall.

As soon as the Alpha was gone, Stiles flopped backward onto the bed, letting out a slightly hysterical laugh as he covered his eyes with his hand.

“What the _fuck_ , Stiles?” he asked the room at large. “You can’t just poke him in the forehead and then drag your finger down his nose, what sort of sappy, chick-flick nonsense is that? Come on, man, get your shit together. He’s gonna know, dammit.”

“I’m gonna know what, Stiles?”

Stiles responded by groaning and rolling onto his side, curling into a ball.

“Nothing, nope, not a thing, nothing you need to know,” he hoped that his already hammering heart would be enough to cover the lie, but he doubted it very much.

“Stiles,” Derek put a hand on his shoulder and _oh shit he was kneeling on the bed—why was he on the fucking bed_ , _dammit Derek_. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m still freaking out,” Stiles answered truthfully. “Just… Yeah. Just freaking out.”

“I have water for you, if you want it?”

Stiles sat up, not meeting Derek’s gaze, and took the offered water, downing half of it before he put it on the bedside table and sighed.

The hand was still on his shoulder, and he was ten seconds from biting it off.

“Cali said I should talk to you,” he began after several very long moments of silence, in which Stiles’ heart had finally settled. “Said there was something important you wanted me to know.”

Stiles’ heart was no longer settled.

“She did?”

“She did.”

“And so you’re asking what it is I want you to know?”

“If you want to tell me, yes.”

Of course he wanted to tell him, he wanted _nothing more_ than to tell Derek fucking Hale that he had the biggest of crushes on him, had had one since the first time he’d saved Derek’s life, possibly even longer than that, and had never said anything because he could never see why an _Alpha_ would want _Stiles_ of all people and really, could anyone blame him for bottling it up, because there was really no reason to tell Derek, _everyone_ wanted Derek ( _one look was enough, that was for damn sure_ ), and really, who was he to—

“Stiles, you’re shaking,” Derek’s voice was laced with concern. “Are you cold?”

“Yeah,” he managed, realizing suddenly that he was.

There was a moment of whispering fabric before something warm and heavy settled over Stiles’ shoulders, and he glanced down to see the dark leather of Derek’s jacket draped over him.

“How’s that?”

And holy _hell_ Derek’s voice was right by his ear, close enough he could almost feel the werewolf’s lips moving against his skin, close enough to feel the hot breath as he spoke and _oh no, there were the daydreams—_

Stiles sitting in Derek’s lap, wearing his jacket and nothing else, the Alpha tugging at his half-hard cock and whispering to him about what a good boy he’d been and how _good_ he was for Derek, and how good boys always got what they wanted—

“Stiles?”

“What?” Stiles snapped his head around to look at Derek, blinking up at him. “What? Nothing. I’m fine.”

“You don’t… sound fine,” Derek frowned ( _eyebrows and all—shit, he knew something was up_ ). “What’s really going on?”

“Did Cali not tell you about the daydreams?”

Oh Stiles, you _idiot_ , _why would you bring that up_.

“Oh,” Derek blinked down at him, eyebrows rising now, curious and surprised. “ _Oh_. Yeah, she mentioned that happens sometimes. I’ve had a few, too, since she came back.”

 _Wait, what_.

“Wait, what?” Stiles spoke without meaning to, his whole face scrunching up as he tried to work _that one_ out. “Who are you daydreaming about?”

Stiles had _never_ seen Derek blush.

 _Never_.

Not when Lydia had kissed him under the mistletoe at Christmas, not when Scott and Stiles had walked in on him right after a shower, not when a girl at the mall had slapped his ass in passing. It just _didn’t happen_.

Until now.

Because Derek _fucking_ Hale was _blushing_.

Like a _cherry_.

“Derek,” and there was no mistaking the grin in Stiles’ voice, even if Derek hadn’t seen it spreading over his face. “Who were you daydreaming about?”

“Is it important?”

“I might be,” Stiles grinned. “Come on, I’ll tell you if you tell me first.”

It was perfect, if Derek said someone else ( _which he would_ ), then Stiles could lie and say it was someone else too ( _which it wasn’t_ ).

“Oh, that… how about at the same time?” Derek sat on the bed beside him, not quite meeting his eye. “Seems fair.”

“Okay, okay, at the same time,” Stiles nodded, because then he could whisper ( _fuck super hearing, he had mastered the subtle whisper_ ), and maybe he could live down the shame. “On three? Just say: it’s fill-in-the-blank.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, one.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

“”It’s you.””

Stiles froze, Derek’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, and in the distance they heard Cali’s voice calling from the elevator.

“Whatever you’re doing to each other, you should keep it PG cause Peter and I are back!”

“You…” Stiles pointed accusingly at Derek.

“Yeah, you,” he grinned back.

“No! No, it can’t be, why would it be me?” Stiles shot to his feet, panicked again as he started to pace. “It wouldn’t be me, there’s no way, why would you.”

He froze as Derek grinned at him, slowly getting to his feet.

“Stiles,” he interrupted, catching the boy’s hand. “Do you know why some people get daydreams around Cali?”

“Peter said it had something to do with people not being affected by her aura,” he forewent air-quotes so he could keep holding Derek’s hand like a _goof_.

“That’s only half of it,” Derek grinned. “The real reason is, people who are in love with someone else aren’t affected by it. Instead, they daydream about the person they love.”

Stiles opened his mouth, realized _what the fuck_ Derek had just said ( _just admitted to, dammit_ ), and snapped his mouth shut again, a blush rising into his cheeks.

“O-oh.”

“Yeah,” Derek smirked, leaning in to whisper against his ear. “I’ll go tell Cali you’re feeling better.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Well, I _should_ ,” he pulled back and gave Stiles a very significant once-over that dialed up his blush to an _eleven_. “Besides, looks like you have something to handle yourself.”

And he was gone. Before Stiles could get out more than a sputtered sound of indignation, he was out the door and away down the hall. Stiles kicked his shoe toward the door, marched to the glass of water and downed the rest of it, only then realizing a very important fact.

He was still wearing Derek’s jacket.

* * *

Saturday came with mixed emotions for Stiles, as Saturday meant pancakes ( _yay!)_ , but also meant facing Derek, and Peter, and Cali ( _Eek_!), and he wasn’t sure how he was going to handle the latter.

He stayed in his pajamas, guiltily glanced at Derek’s leather jacket, and then left it on his bed as he shuffled to the loft and entered to the syrupy scent of fresh-made pancakes and strong coffee.

 _Heaven_.

Derek was coming down the stairs, barefoot and still in loose pajama pants, and as he glanced up at Stiles, their eyes met.

There was a flash of red in Derek’s eyes, and then the wind was knocked from Stiles’ lungs as a daydream slammed into him.

_Derek pushing him into the wall, claiming his mouth, hands sliding under his clothes, fingers warm and determined, teasing sounds out of him as he worked his way to his knees, tugging Stiles’ waistband down as he began licking—_

“Morning, Stiles,” Scott clapped him on the shoulder as he passed him, headed into the loft. “You sleep okay?”

“What, huh?” Stiles blinked, dragging himself back to the present. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, totally—great.”

“Lydia told me about what happened,” Scott continued in an undertone. “Look, man, I—“

“It’s fine,” Stiles interrupted. “Right now I just want breakfast.”

Scott nodded, and continued into the loft. Isaac trailed after him, pausing long enough to give Stiles’ shoulder a squeeze before he too moved toward the table laden with food.

Stiles cleared his throat, trying to casually ensure his boner wasn’t obvious through his sweats, and continued into the loft behind the two Betas.

Cali grinned at him as he entered, glancing between him and Derek as Peter poured him coffee.

“You’re being nice?” Stiles wrinkled his nose. “Is it poisoned?”

“Shut up,” Peter frowned at him, handing him the mug. “I know what it’s like to be trapped in your own head… I’m sorry you went through it too.”

Stiles took the cup and gave him a tiny nod and a smile, sniffing the cup experimentally ( _earning a signature Hale Eyeroll_ _from Peter_ ) as Cali offered him a plate piled with food.

“Did your talk with Derek go well?” she prompted.

“Sorta,” he choked out. “You failed to mention _why_ people daydream, so that bomb got dropped on me out of the blue.”

“Oops,” she winked. “Well, you know now.”

“Yes and so does Derek.”

“How is that a problem?” she asked with a smirk. “Now you both know its mutual.”

Stiles felt heat start to climb up the back of his neck, and glanced over his shoulder to see Derek staring intently at him. His eyes flashed to red for a moment before—

_Before he was shoving Stiles onto the table, plates clattering to the ground, shattering and spilling as Derek suckled at his neck, leaving marks Stiles would blush about for days, hands already stroking him, stroking them both together in the same hand, lengths brushing and teasing, heat almost too much too take, and Stiles whispering out the Alpha’s name before he tumbled over the edge of ecstasy and straight into—_

Into Peter’s arms, the older man catching him as Stiles started to slump on the spot, Cali grabbing his plate and mug before they could go the way of the plates in his daydream.

“Stiles?” Scott prompted around a mouthful of bacon.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Cali held his face between her hands, smiling as Peter helped him right himself. “That’s it, just look at me. _Breathe, Stiles_.”

Stiles breathed, realizing that he’d been holding his breath, his vision popping at the edges as bursts of starlight color began to form. He took a few more breaths, giving his head a little shake, and finally tapped Peter’s arm to let him know he was alright.

Peter let go and Stiles swayed on the spot.

“Okay, champ, let’s get you in a chair,” Peter huffed, almost amused, as he dragged Stiles to the couch.

“Fine, I’m fine,” Stiles tried to say, but heard it as a string of muttered syllables that not even the sharpest werewolf ear would be able to interpret.

“Is he okay?” Isaac prompted from behind Cali. “He looks really pale.”

“And he smells weird,” Scott chipped in, earning a half-hearted glare from Stiles.

“He’ll be fine,” Cali waved them away. “Peter, can you get him some water?”

Peter ensured Stiles wasn’t going to collapse over the arm of the sofa and then beat a retreat up the spiral staircase.

“Hey, you okay?” Cali put a hand to his chest, his heart hammering against his ribs. “Can you look at me?”

He did, but all he saw was Derek’s worried eyebrows scrunching together behind her, the Alpha’s arms crossed as he breathed heavily and _oh_.

“Derek, your eyes are blue,” Stiles managed. “Why are they blue?”

“Yours are too,” Cali whispered. “Stiles _look at me_.”

Stiles looked at her, looked her in the eye, saw the bright aqua iris start to glow faintly as she carded her fingers through his hair and _oh that was nice_.

“So nice,” he babbled. “Why so nice? Did you charm Peter? Is that why he’s nice? And why is this so nice? Touch is so nice.”

“ _Shit_ ,” she growled.

“Not nice,” Stiles frowned. “Shouldn’t swear, sounds weird from you.”

“What’s the matter with him?”

“He’s being poisoned,” Peter reappeared at Derek’s shoulder with two glasses of water, one of which he handed his nephew. “It’s an effect of Cali’s powers. Too much daydreaming and not enough release can—well, it does rather nasty things to the brain.”

“ _Drink_ ,” Cali ordered, and both boys did. “Stiles, I need you to answer a question, and it’s going to sound silly, but I need you to be honest, alright?”

He nodded. He wanted to do whatever he needed to keep Cali there and playing with his hair. He could imagine it was Derek’s hand instead and then— _wait it was Derek’s hand oh, shit._

“Stiles,” Cali ( _with both hands on his face again, shit, Derek was playing with his hair, he might explode_ ) smiled. “When was the last time you got off?”

Words formed and then failed Stiles as he scrunched up his face and fought to remember. He remembered what he’d thought about—a common fantasy that involved Derek’s perfect lips wrapped around him and that smug grin gracing his cock as a wicked tongue did terrible things to—

“Stiles, _focus_ ,” Cali cut through his spiraling thoughts, pulling his attention back to her. “ _Answer the question_.”

“Few weeks ago,” he admitted. “Not sure the exact day.”

There was a Judgmental Eyebrow Flick from Peter that made Stiles want to fight him.

“Okay,” Cali nodded. “Okay, so it’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” he suddenly felt very on the spot, the rest of the pack throwing their cluster looks as they trickled in to get breakfast, whispering amongst themselves over what was going on.

“Well, can you do something for me, then?” she asked.

“What?”

“Can you go back to your room and get off?”

The hand in his hair began to scratch at the base of his scalp, and he let out a rather embarrassing sound that he wanted Derek to swallow with a kiss.

“Can I take the big bad wolf with me?” he managed instead.

The scratching intensified.

“Sure,” Cali grinned. “You should both get off—together, even. But you’ll feel a lot better once you do, I promise.”

“Okay,” Stiles tried to stand, and suddenly found himself in Derek’s arms, being toted out of the loft bridal-style.

“Okay, what the hell?” he heard Scott say in the distance.

“Stiles isn’t feeling well, but he’ll be okay after a little bit more rest,” Cali answered. “C’mon, this food isn’t gonna eat itself!”

Stiles wanted to make a request that food be saved for them, but all he could do was breath in Derek’s scent, something clean and undercut with a woody scent that made both perfect sense and Stiles mad at how cliché it was. He pressed his nose to the juncture of jaw and neck, just below Derek’s ear, and received a growl for his trouble.

“If you start something before we get to your room, I will drop you,” he warned. “I don’t want our first time to be some hallway exhibition for the rest of the pack to watch.”

“ _Our_ \--?” Stiles didn’t get to finish the sentence, suddenly on his back on the bed, a very hungry looking Derek looming over him. “Oh, uh, we don’t, I mean, I can just—you don’t need to—”

“I want to,” Derek whispered, and the blue was all but gone from his eyes, just a thin line that glowed around his pupils where they were blown wide. “I’ve wanted to for a long time.”

“Well, okay,” Stiles, ever articulate, managed to wheeze out. “But, I mean, I probably won’t last very long, cause I already feel it.”

Derek grinned, and it was even better in person than in a fantasy, “I’ll go slow then.”

“I mean, you can start with a kiss, but like, don’t hold back on my account.”

Stiles hoped the _ravage me, you idiot_ was loud enough even in the silence that followed.

“I’ll do my best.”

_And then Derek was ripping his clothes off, claws catching and leaving red marks as his eyes burned crimson and a growl rumbled out of his throat—_

* * *

Stiles came back to reality with a gasp, and sat up straight on the bed, looking around frantically for a moment.

“Stiles? You with me? Looked like you blacked out for a second,” Derek’s voice was low and rough around the edges, just this side of a growl. “Talk to me.”

“Can’t—” Stiles gulped and shook his head, trying to remember why they were in his room. “Like a panic attack.”

“Hey, hey,” Derek took his face into his hands, and his touch was electric. “Look at me. I’ve got you.”

“Not yet you don’t,” Stiles found himself saying. _Right._ That was why they were in his room. “But you could—you could have me any way you wanted. Unless you already did? Oh, man, don’t tell me you did and I blacked out during, cause _I would die if—_ “

Derek’s ears stained red as he hurried to shake his head, glancing to the door, sniffing the air as another daydream slammed into Stiles, hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.

 _Derek with his palms splayed over Stiles’ hips, holding him steady on the bed as he took him into his mouth, a growl rumbling out of his chest, his tongue swirling over the head before he pulled off with a satisfied smirk and whispered_ _“You ready, handsome?”_

“Stiles?” Derek repeated, pulling him back to reality. “What do you need? Tell me what you need, Stiles, whatever it—“

“Fuck me,” Stiles blurted. “Please, _please_ , if you can, I mean, if you want to—I just—I think I might explode if you don’t at least _touch me_ —“

Derek cut him off with a kiss.

The world went white, and all Stiles could feel was Derek’s lips on his. He kissed back, a desperate groan bubbling out of him as he dragged him closer, the sweet kiss turning sloppy and desperate as a surge rant through Stiles, like a tightly wound spring suddenly being released. Relief flooded through him, and he felt himself relax, breathing properly for the first time in what felt like years.

“Better?” Derek whispered, hovering over his lips.

“Better,” Stiles confirmed, forcing his eyes open to look up into Derek’s. “But not enough.”

“I don’t want to take advantage—“

“Then don’t, just _take me_.”

Derek huffed out what could have been a laugh, had it not been punctuated with his lips against Stiles’ jaw, teeth scraping over his pulse, and Stiles arched into him with a whine he was not above admitting sounded _incredibly needy_.

“Tell me how,” Derek murmured into his skin. “Tell me exactly what you want. Tell me what you need, Stiles, I’m all yours.”

Every dirty thought from the past week chased itself through Stiles’ head as he melted into Derek’s touch, pressing closer and closer until he almost fell off the bed.

“I keep seeing you on your knees,” he mumbled. “Your lips wrapped around my cock, just, _devouring me_ , and so damn _smug_.”

Derek growled against his neck, and Stiles shuddered.

“I keep seeing the same thing,” he groaned. “Pushing you down, pushing you against a wall, kissing down to your belt and then…then letting you fuck my mouth.”

Stiles whimpered, staring down at him as Derek pulled back enough to look him in the eye. He licked his lips, slowly and deliberately, and his eyes bled from the ring of blue to a blood red.

“Do you want that, Stiles?” he asked, voice rough and low. “Want to fuck my mouth? Want me to devour you?”

“ _Please_ ,” Stiles whimpered, past caring how desperate he sounded. “Please, Derek, whatever you want to do to me, with me, just _do it_.”

Derek pushed him gently backward onto the bed, climbing up over him a second time, kissing down his neck to the ‘v’ in his shirt, tongue flickering out to taste the hollow of his throat.

“I’ll be gentle,” Derek whispered, hands skating over his sides, teasing the hem of his shirt up higher.

“I thought we covered this,” Stiles managed, squirming despite his best attempts to hold still. “You don’t have to be.”

“Then…can I leave a mark?”

Derek sounded so _shy_ about it, like he was expecting Stiles to shove him away, like it was _shameful_ , when in reality it was something Stiles had been thinking about for _just about forever_.

“If you don’t, I’ll be very disappointed,” he managed with a smirk, catching Derek’s eye for a moment.

Derek smirked back as he nuzzled into his hip with a soft whine, kissing the spot before he took the soft skin into his teeth. Stiles groaned as he rolled the flesh back and forth gingerly in his teeth, careful not to break it, but leaving in his wake a bright bruise.

“Been imagining this, too,” Derek whispered, kissing the words to his skin. “Marking you up, leaving bruises and scratches—marking you— _claiming_ you.”

Another whimper left Stiles as Derek ran his nails lightly over Stiles’ stomach, just light enough that it didn’t tickle, but sent a spark through the boy as he squirmed closer to Derek.

“ _Please_ ,” he breathed again. “Derek, please.”

“You’re sure?” he asked again. “I know I keep asking, but I don’t want—I don’t want you to regret this, once the fever wears off…”

“Fever’s never gonna wear off, if you keep dragging your feet,” Stiles fussed. “Derek, I’ve wanted this since I realized what _this_ was—I’ve wanted you for so long I should have been seeking professional help. I love you, you idiot.”

Oh, wait, no, Stiles was the idiot. Stiles was definitely the idiot.

He bit his lips shut, his face suddenly hot as Derek’s eyes went wide, and then a smile spilled onto Derek’s face, more luminous than the _sun_.

“You love me, huh?”

It had been implied with the daydreaming and the pining, and the kissing that had _literally_ just happened, but Stiles hadn’t _said it_ , and now he had, and there was no taking that back, not now, that was it, he was stuck with it out in the world and oh _shit, Derek was still waiting for an answer_.

“A lot.”

He laughed. It was like _music_.

“Well good,” he grinned and suddenly he was all feral energy, tensing muscles and sharp teeth. “I’d hate to think I was the only one.”

Stiles was ready to talk more, launch into a speech about unrequited love, but then Derek tugged his shirt off, and every thought instantly left Stiles’ head in favor of the sheer glory that was Derek Hale, sans shirt.

“Oof,” he managed instead.

Derek laughed again.

 _That was twice_. _He made Derek Sour-Wolf Hale laugh twice_.

“Come here, handsome,” Derek growled.

And Stiles did. Just like that. He came and then he turned as red as a tomato, because there was no hiding the way he shuddered and gasped and arched off the bed up into Derek for a fraction of a second before he flopped back again, eyes wide and face flushed and _so ready to be swallowed by the floor_.

“Did… Did you just…” Derek was red too, eyebrows knitted together as he fought to ask the question without _actually asking the question_.

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles blurted. “I told you I might, I’m so sorry, oh, fuck, I’m _so sorry.”_

He covered his face with his hands and willed the bed to eat him alive. He felt the coil of need still wound tight inside him though, as if that had barely scratched the surface of what he wanted, what he needed, and he wanted to articulate that, but there was entirely too much embarrassment between him and the words for him to get them out.

“Hey,” Derek shifted closer, leaning over him to run his nose along the seam of Stiles’ hands where they tried to shield him. “That was hot.”

Stiles peeked between his fingers, “Liar.”

“No lie.”

“Really?”

“If you had just watched me come on command, would you think it was hot?”

“Yes,” he didn’t have to think about that, he _had_ thought about it.

“So,” Derek grinned. “Think you could do it again?”

“Uhhhh,” Stiles froze as he felt Derek’s hand slip under his shirt, nails running over his side in nonsensical patterns. “If you give me a sec.”

“I can give you a couple, I think,” he kissed the back of Stiles’ hands. “Think you’ll survive if I take off the rest of my clothes?”

“Probably not, but sure, let’s risk it.”

Derek laughed ( _three times, new record_ ), and pulled back, shucking off his pants as Stiles fumbled with his shirt for a moment, finally tugging it off and dumping it on the floor.

“Gonna pass out on me this time, too?”

“I’m gonna try not to.”

Derek caught his chin in one hand, tilting his face back up, eyes bright red now, burning out the blue to near extinction. He pulled him in close, lips whispering over Stiles’ as he hummed.

“ _Good_.”

Stiles pushed forward to close the distance, pulling Derek back in by the waist, thumbs running over the sharp angles of his hipbones, only really now realizing that Derek had gone commando under his sleep pants and _of course he had why hadn’t Stiles seen it comi—_ phrasing.

“You’re thinking too much,” Derek mumbled into the kiss. “I can practically hear it.”

“Then maybe you should figure out how to shut me up,” Stiles challenged.

Derek nipped at his bottom lip, giving it a playful tug before he guided Stiles back down onto the bed, kissing down his chest, stubble prickling pleasantly over Stiles’ stomach as he shifted lower, peeking up at Stiles as he lifted his hips gently, and started to pull his pants off.

Stiles scrabbled back further up the bed as Derek pulled them completely off and dumped them onto the floor, a hungry grin tugging onto his lips as the Alpha looked him over.

“You’re gorgeous.”

“Looked in a mirror, lately? Or a dictionary, maybe?” Stiles could feel the heat climbing up the back of his neck as the hungry look carried all the way up his body. “Seriously, Derek, I think you have a very different definition of—“

The end of his sentence was lost to the chaste kiss that Derek decided to drop to the head of his cock, and Stiles shuddered with a moan.

“ _Fuuuuck_ ,” he whimpered.

“No, I think our definition of ‘fuck’ is the same,” Derek had the gall to _joke_. “So I’m gonna go ahead and do that, unless you have an objection?”

Stiles was sure that in any other moment, the amount of care and consent Derek was trying to convey would be utterly endearing, but at the moment it was beyond frustrating. Although it still managed to be nice and _how was that fair_?

“No, nope, no objections,” Stiles nervously wetted his lips. “So, you know, carry o— _oooh fuck_.”

He bit his lips down on a groan as Derek took the head into his mouth, humming softly around him, tongue straying out to run down the underside before he pulled back again, licking his lips.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles reiterated. “Do you want—I mean, I have—condom?”

“Not unless you want one,” Derek _flushed with embarrassment_. “I like—you taste really good.”

“Oh.”

_Oh._

_OH._

He was never going to let Derek live that down.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

And he was back on him in a flash, Stiles’ head thrown back with another moan as Derek eased further and further onto him, setting a slow, _agonizing_ pace, a hand on Stiles’ hip to keep him as still as possible— _which honestly wasn’t very still at all, he was a squirmer_ —the other exploring over his skin, nails dragging gently over his thigh and hip, a sharp accent to the soft caress of his tongue over his cock.

Derek started to move faster, slowly building up speed as he groaned around Stiles’, the brunet doing everything in his power not to move. Derek struck a ticklish part on his side, however, and Stiles jumped, yelping softly as he batted Derek’s hand away.

The movement caused the barest hint of teeth to brush against him and _oh, why was that hot_? The dangerous edge, the reminder that Derek— _a werewolf_ —had him in his mouth, sharp fangs so capable of doing terrible things, and _fuck_ —

_Derek, wolfed out and feral, shoving him into a wall and biting into him, the sharp fangs sinking into his skin as he was held captive against the wall, a howl tearing from his lips as venom surged through him, and he felt a change begin—_

“You okay?” Derek asked, dragging Stiles back to the very real, very human present.

“No.”

“Want me to stop?”

“ _No.”_

Derek smirked, kissing up over his chest as he moved up to drop kisses against Stiles’ throat and lips, a chuckle rumbling from his chest and into Stiles’.

“Then what do you want, Stiles?”

Stiles wanted too many things, there were _so many things_ that he wanted, but the first thing that came to mind was something he’d imagined earlier, his eyes landing on Derek’s jacket that was _somehow_ still laying at the end of his bed.

“So I have a very specific request, and I’m gonna need you to not judge me for it.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Stiles shifted them around, pushing Derek down against the pillows at the head of the bed, propped up and watching him hungrily, as he grabbed the jacket and pulled it on, clearing his throat as he straddled Derek’s hips and tried not to look embarrassed. Thankfully, Derek didn’t seem to be fairing any better, and that was more of a relief than he was willing to admit.

“Could you…could you fuck me like this? Let me ride you?”

“Lube?” Derek managed to get out, eyes still locked with Stiles’.

Stiles stretched to reach the nightstand, Derek grabbing his hips and pulling him back once he’d retrieved the bottle, offering it wordlessly as he averted his eyes.

“You’re adorable.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m not the one who’s about to be loud.”

Stiles kissed him, moving a hand up to card through his hair, giving an experimental tug and being rewarded with a soft moan. He ground down into Derek, their lengths brushing in a delicious spark of friction, and the Alpha moaned again, grabbing his hips and holding him steady.

“Gonna be a second while I—”

“Tell me I’m a good boy.”

Stiles felt his cheeks burn the second the words left his mouth, and Derek’s eyebrows rose for a moment before he grinned, wrapping a hand around Stiles’ length.

“So good,” he whispered. “Such a good boy, Stiles, so good for me.”

Stiles moaned, grabbing Derek’s shoulders to keep himself steady as Derek slicked up his fingers and gently slipped inside. He worked him open slowly and carefully, and Stiles was lost in the wash of soft whispers and touch, losing track of what was happening until Derek bit his shoulder, leaving another bruise that Stiles liked more than he wanted to admit.

“Gonna fuck you, now,” Derek whispered. “You gonna be a good boy for me?”

Stiles nodded hurriedly, putting his forehead to Derek’s as the Alpha slowly pulled him down to meet him. Stiles bit back another cry as he sank fully onto Derek’s cock, panting softly as he looked back at the Alpha.

“Not gonna last,” he mumbled. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Derek kissed his neck, pulling him up by the hips, guiding him almost fully off before pulling him back down again. “I won’t either.”

“Faster?” Stiles knew it sounded like begging, but he wanted it more than his dignity, so he _begged_. “Please, Derek, faster. I need—please.”

“I’ve got you,” he hummed, kissing over his neck and shoulder as he moved him faster, snapping his hips up to meet him.

He returned his attention to Stiles’ neglected length, earning a string of curses and loud moans, Stiles’ nails digging into his shoulders as he bounced on his lap. A flick of a curious tongue to his collarbone was all it took to send Stiles’ hurtling over the edge again, spilling over Derek’s chest, his head thrown back as he tightened around him.

“ _Fuck_ , Stiles, I’m—“

“Do it,” he moaned. “Please, Derek, please come.”

Derek’s breath caught in his throat, and he tried to pull Stiles off, but the brunet fought him, grinding down onto him again.

“Come for me, Derek.”

Derek whimpered, and pulled Stiles into a crushing kiss as his own orgasm rolled over him, the hand on his hip squeezing hard enough Stiles was certain there would be a hand-shaped bruise and he _delighted_ at the idea.

“You’re right, that is hot,” Stiles grinned.

“Shut up.”

“Make me, Hale.”

Derek kissed him.

It wasn’t like the past few, either, desperate and hungry, it was soft and gentle, a _loving kiss_ , and Stiles felt himself melt into it, pressing as close to Derek as he could, running his fingers through his hair and over his shoulders, soothing the angry half-moons he had left with his nails before.

“I love you,” Derek whispered. “Stiles, I—“

There was a knock on the door, and they both whipped their heads around to stare at it, flushing red.

“Clothes,” Stiles breathed. “We need clothes.”

“I can’t move.”

“ _What_?”

“I’m _knotted to you, idiot_ ,” Derek hissed, and oh, yeah, Stiles could tell that _now_.

“ _Fuck_.”

“I thought we just had?”

“This is not the time for joking!”

Another knock, and Stiles felt his stomach drop at the sound of Cali’s voice.

“So, I’m going to assume you two are good,” she called from the other side of the door. “I just wanted to let you know Lydia led everyone to the library on the premise of homework, so it’s just me and Peter here, and we’ll be in our room, so if you need anything, just, uh, text us? I saved some pancakes for you, they’re out here by the door, along with water and coffee, so help yourself.”

There was a brief pause before Stiles felt the guilt override his embarrassment and called back, “Thanks, Cali.”

“No problem! Have a good day in, you two.”

They waited until the sound of her footsteps had faded down the hall, and then Stiles looked back to Derek, a grin tugging at his lips as he looked the Alpha over, taking in the flushed expression and the angry eyebrows that were very disapproving of his communication with the siren. He leaned in to kiss the spot between them, chuckling as they twitched and tickled his chin.

“You were saying?”


	2. I've Got a Hunger (Twisting my Stomach into Knots)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You have a week,” she gave him the ultimatum. “And then I’m going to ask out Stiles for you.”
> 
> Derek looked pointedly at her notepad and raised a questioning eyebrow.
> 
> “I wrote a list of prompts,” she held it at eye level, clearing her throat as she readied the pencil for work. “Hey Stiles, I’m an idiot and won’t sleep with you again till I take you on a real date—let’s do lunch.”
> 
> “I hate you.”
> 
> “Well that makes it mutual, at the very least.”

It had been precisely one month since The Incident™ (Stiles insisted they give it a codename, which Derek found both dumb and endearing) when Cali walked into Derek’s kitchen with a notepad and a pencil, plopping onto a barstool with the look of someone determined to make his life much more complicated.

“You have a week,” she gave him the ultimatum. “And then I’m going to ask out Stiles for you.”

Derek looked pointedly at her notepad and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I wrote a list of prompts,” she held it at eye level, clearing her throat as she readied the pencil for work. “Hey Stiles, I’m an idiot and won’t sleep with you again till I take you on a real date—let’s do lunch.”

“I hate you.”

“Well that makes it mutual, at the very least.”

He growled, but there was no real threat in it.

“Ahem—” she returned her attention to the list. “Let’s grab a bite before I bite you again.”

Derek’s cheeks flushed with color at the memory of Cali spotting _that_ mark on Stiles one morning at Saturday Brunch.

“Peter suggested that one.”

Derek made a sound of disgust and rolled his eyes, returning his attention to his breakfast.

“Not to your liking? I’ll let Peter know. Oh! What about,” she paused for dramatic effect. “Let’s go mingle before we mate.”

“Fuck you.”

“No thanks, I’m a one-wolf kinda gal,” she grinned. “Besides, what would Stiles say?”

“Probably the same thing, if he heard that.”

“So you don’t like any of these, I take it?” Cali huffed, placing her notepad onto the counter. “No overwhelming urge to ask the poor boy out?”

“Cali,” he growled out a warning. “I’ll ask when—”

“When you can’t stand it anymore?” she prompted. “Derek, if you aren’t going to sleep with the poor boy, he should at least know _why_.”

Derek folded his arms and glared at the floor.

After The Incident™, Derek had decided that he didn’t want to have sex with Stiles again until he took him out on an actual date. He felt awkward that their… _whatever it was_ had started in a bedroom and not in, say, a bar. He'd stolen a few quick kisses in the time between, little moments where they were alone and Derek skated his hands over Stile’s skin or played with his hair and the brunet gave him a smirk he hadn’t been able to resist kissing away—but each time Stiles tried to touch him back, put his hands under his shirt and feel him, he’d pulled away and scampered out of reach.

Derek had decided on this course of action without consulting Stiles—much to Cali’s disapproval—and Stiles had rushed to Cali for advice on wooing werewolves—much to Cali’s delight—when he felt Derek was being weird and giving him a bit of a cold shoulder.

“I just… I know he’ll tell me I’m being dumb—”

“Because you are.”

“—but it doesn’t… feel right,” Derek shrugged. “I don’t want to take advantage, and I don’t want him to think that’s all I want, because that’s not true, I do want more, I want… _romance_.”

“Well, first of all, don’t say it like it’s a swear word,” Cali snorted. “And second, just _tell him that_. Stiles is a smart kid, he’ll understand. But plotting and planning and _pining_ isn’t going to help anyone. Least of all Stiles.”

“You’re right, and I know you’re right, but I’m still not happy about it.”

“You have a week,” Cali gave him a firm nod. “And then I ask him out for you.”

“Fine,” Derek grumbled. “I’ll do it.”

“And then do him,” Cali grinned. “Boy’s about to _burst_.”

Derek’s cheeks flared with color as he raised another questioning eyebrow, too embarrassed to actually ask.

“Apparently, when it comes to Stiles, if he ‘ _can’t get off with Derek_ ’, he doesn’t ‘ _want to get off at all_ ’,” she snickered. “He’s being good about it, though, no more poisoning—but really, there’s only so much torture one boy should take.”

Derek bit back what would likely have been a very embarrassing sound as he shifted on the spot, looking back to the floor pointedly—

_And then he was looking down at Stiles, his eyes blown wide and face flushed as he panted out Derek’s name, nails dragging over his skin as he pressed closer, begging for release—_

“You know you go all glassy-eyed when you start daydreaming,” Cali purred as he snapped back out of it. “It’s kind of cute, actually.”

“I thought—“ Derek’s voice caught in his throat as Stiles appeared at the top of the spiral staircase. “Thought I fixed that problem.”

“Oh, no, it’s a reoccurring phenomenon,” Cali beamed at him. “Stiles! Perfect timing, we were just talking about you—what’s up?”

“Uhh,” he glanced between the two of them, rather like a deer caught in headlights. “Cali, can I borrow you for a bit? I need to interview a non-relation for a school project. If that’s okay?”

“Sure,” she smiled, flipping over her notepad casually. “But why not one of the Pack? Like, you know, your Alpha?”

Derek shot her a warning look that she pointedly ignored.

“Seemed too easy,” he shrugged, but he wasn’t making eye-contact and Derek didn’t like how quiet he was getting. “I don’t know you _as_ well, so it seemed a little more fair.”

“Well, I’d be happy to help,” Cali hopped from her seat and sauntered over to him, linking her arm through his. “Let’s leave Derek to his brooding, shall we?”

“Actually, uh, Stiles—“ Derek’s voice caught, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Can I… talk to you?”

“Can it wait?” Stiles frowned. “The project is due by midnight, so I should really get it done while I’m actually focused on it… but I can talk after?”

Okay, that made sense.

If Stiles felt like Derek was being cold, he’d be wary of talking, and projects that required concentration should come first regardless, especially ones due by midnight, so it made sense for him to postpone a conversation until he talked to Cali and ( _presumably_ ) got advice. It made sense. Stiles even looked mildly apologetic, which implied he _did_ want to talk, just not _right now_.

“Okay, yeah,” Derek managed a smile. “Just let me know when you’re done.”

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely,” Stiles looked like he wanted to say something else ( _like he wanted to shove Derek against the counter and_ do _something else_ ). “I’ll, uhm, come find you.”

“Sure,” Derek fought the urge to walk right over and kiss him. “Good luck with the project.”

“Oh, please, I’m a delight to talk to,” Cali sniffed. “Stiles, after you.”

Stiles grinned, winking at Derek as he started down the stairs, Cali hurrying down after him.

Derek let out a long sigh, glancing to the notepad Cali had left behind. Maybe there wasn’t the _perfect_ prompt in there, but there were, at least, prompts, and that was more than Derek currently had.

He flipped it back over again, scanning down the list. Admittedly, most of them were insufferably cheesy, but there were a few that weren’t too bad.

“Did you ask him, yet?”

Derek jumped at the sound of Peter’s voice, the other wolf leaning against the wall by the hallway to his room.

“Have you asked Cali, yet?” he countered.

“Yes,” Peter smirked. “Hadn’t you noticed us going out at all hours?”

Derek hadn’t, honestly, but he wasn’t about to admit that.

“I haven’t asked him.”

“Well you should,” Peter sighed. “Despite any evidence to the contrary, I do actually like Stiles—and even rarer still, I like him _with you_.”

Derek didn’t look at him, aware of how warm his cheeks were, “Thanks.”

“So do us all a favor, get your shit together, and ask him out.”

Derek did look up then, glaring at his uncle as the older man pushed away from the wall and headed for the stairs.

“Ask him to a movie—it’s not as hard as it seems. He’ll say yes, Derek, you just need to _ask_.”

Logically, Derek knew Peter was right—the nervousness of rejection holding him back was unfounded—Stiles would _obviously_ say yes, and if he said no, it would be conditional ( _no, not_ that _day, but the day after?_ ). There was no reason Derek shouldn’t ask.

But maybe without the Pack around.

They’d gotten used to Cali ( _and, more recently, gotten used to_ Cali and Peter), the Siren joining them on patrols and helping them with homework whenever they needed it, and he wanted to give the Pack the same chance to adjust to this, as well.

The Alpha dating another member of the Pack could be less than ideal, if things went badly ( _which they_ wouldn’t, _because Stiles would say yes, and everything would be_ fine _.)_

With another huff, Derek wrangled his phone from his pocket and stubbornly looked up what was Now Playing at the local theater.

He surprised himself by recognizing one of the titles as a thriller Stiles had mentioned ( _unsubtly, he now realized_ ) wanting to see several times. And there were even show times on Friday ( _Derek had committed the entire Pack’s individual schedules to memory the first day of the semester_ ). Perfect.

He put two tickets in his cart and then locked his screen, returning to his now-cool breakfast.

Take that, Peter.

* * *

When Stiles found Derek, however, the rest of the Pack was with him.

Scott was talking animatedly about the interview he had done for the project, and Lydia was humoring Allison by answering her questions as the Hunter sat curled on the couch in the loft. Peter and Cali had carved out a little nook in one corner of the main room, and were curled up there with books and mugs of steaming something while the rest of the Pack picked out spots to make their own.

“When did my place become the default hangout spot?” Derek asked Stiles as the brunet wandered over to him.

“Well, I mean, you're the Alpha,” he shrugged. “Seems, you know, kinda, normal?”

“Normal?”

“Well I wouldn't know, now would I, I'm not a sourwolf,” Stiles stuck his tongue out at him, and Derek had to fight the urge to shove it back into his mouth with his own. “What did you want to talk about, by the way?”

_Oh. Right._

“Oh, right,” he floundered for a moment, casting a look to the Siren in the corner who was simultaniously watching him like a hawk and still managing to look enraptured in her book at the same time. “I had a question.”

“I have an answer, let's see if they're related,” Stiles grinned. “What's up?”

“Are you busy, on Friday?”

Derek did, technically, already know the answer, but given how little he had included Stiles in his plans involving the human up to this point, he figured now was as good a time as any to _start_ including him.

“Uhhh, what time?” he scrunched up his eyebrows in a way that made Derek want to kiss them. “I have a thing at, like, four? Workshop for a class, but I can get out of it, if it's something important. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything's fine,” he frowned, and for a moment he didn't get it. “Why wouldn't it be?”

“You look like someone took a piss on your family grave,” Stiles snorted. “I just assumed something shitty was going down.”

Oh. Right.

That made sense.

Derek being secretive and distant, Derek asking to talk to Stiles, _alone_ , Derek wanting to know if he had plans, because maybe this was a Pack thing and there would be patrols to run, Derek being a _blithering idiot_.

“Everything's fine, Stiles,” Derek gave him a tiny smile, uncrossing his arms and putting one hand lightly on the small of Stiles' back. Suddenly, he had the brunet's full and undivided attention. “I just wanted to know if you were busy Friday night, or if you wanted to go to a movie.”

“Oh, a movie?” Stiles looked torn between relieved (Yay! No emergency!) and flustered (Probably because his thumb was straying under his shirt and over his skin. “Like, at a theater?”

“That's usually where you go to see them, yes.”

“Like, with the Pack?”

“I mean,” Derek heard Cali cough from the corner of the room. “If...you wanted?”

“Oh, I mean,” Stiles looked at the rest of the Pack, who were in various states of despair over their homework. “I mean, that... either way would be fun.”

He looked between Scott and Derek, and a sudden rush of jealous possessiveness washed over Derek. He wanted to take Stiles on a nice date, go see a movie and grab dinner, bring him back here and ( _if Stiles was willing)_ devour him with his lips, teeth, and tongue.

“I was sort of thinking it... could, you know, just be—”

“A movie?” Scott interjected, perking up. “What about a movie?”

Derek turned to look at the Beta, his eyes flashing red for a second before he took a calming breath and steadied himself.

“I was thinking about going to one with Stiles, yeah.”

“Which one?”

“ _Kingslayer_.”

Derek had the distinct pleasure of watching Stiles' face light up at the mention of it.

“Oh! Stiles, you've been wanting to go see that, right?”

“Yeah, uh, yeah, I have,” Stiles looked to Derek, and the expression was one of sheer adoration and understanding.

Stiles knew what this was supposed to be. He got it. And if the tiny, shy smile and hopeful eyes were anything to go by, he was totally down to date Derek.

“We should all go!”

If only Scott had gotten the picture as well as Stiles had.

“That could be nice,” Allison admitted, peeking up from her homework. “It's been kind of a crazy week. A Pack outing could be fun.”

“Yeah, an _outing_ would be nice,” Lydia looked pointedly to where Derek's hand vanished under Stiles' shirt. “We could just go have fun like normal teenagers, for a change.”

“I don't know what about us makes you think we are capable of _anything_ normal teenagers manage to do,” Stiles snarked back. “But I guess we could try.”

There was a half-second of silence as Derek silently glowered, and then Stiles turned to him, suddenly all soft edges and gentle eyes, peeking at him through too-long lashes as he wet his lips and—

_And those lips were wrapped around his cock, taking him in slowly, slicking him up as a tongue swirled his head, sending sparks up his spine, bright lights popping behind his eyelids as he felt a coil in his belly curl tighter and begin to warm—_

“--okay with you, Derek?”

He snapped back to reality with a sharp intake of breath, looking back at Stiles.

“What?”

“If taking the Pack out is okay with you,” Stiles repeated, a rather knowing smirk flickering over his lips before he bit the bottom one and _dammit he knew exactly what he was doing_.

“Sure,” Derek smiled, watching the smirk fall off Stiles' face. “Why not? A night out might be just what we all need.”

“You just inviting the youngsters, or can us retired folks join in too?” Cali asked from her corner, an amused, knowing smile on her lips.

“I mean, you're always welcome,” Derek raised an eyebrow in challenge to his uncle. “Not sure about the old man, though.”

“I can still ground you, young man, don't make me.”

Cali laughed, and the energy in the room returned to normal. Derek ran his nails lightly over Stiles' spine before he pulled his hand away, tucking it into his pocket.

“So, Friday night, then?” he asked the room at large, ignoring the tiny shudder Stiles gave at the sudden lack of contact. “I'll get us all tickets, but dinner is Dutch.”

“Even for me?” Stiles whispered as Scott let out a cheer and returned to his work.

“I don't know, Stiles,” Derek smirked as he looked back at him. “If I pay for dinner, you might think this is a date.”

“Which is clearly ludicrous,” Stiles nodded, fighting a smirk. “Because, obviously, if it were, you would have told Scott no, and Cali wouldn't be looking like she's the smuggest cat in the barn.”

“Obviously,” Derek agreed with a shrug. “But, I suppose, it might have started as one, until Scott interrupted.”

“Well, it could still end as one,” Stiles offered him a sly, coy smile that had no right being there ( _or being so effective_ ). “If you were, uh, up for that.”

Derek was about to be up on him, if he wasn't careful.

“I might be,” he grinned, eyes flashing red as Stiles shuddered faintly. “You'll just have to wait and see.”

Stiles looked like he was about to say something, but Derek chose that moment to pull out his phone, adding another six tickets to his cart.

“8:30 work for everyone?”

* * *

“This doesn't count,” Cali muttered to him around her straw, settling in next to Derek in the aisle, Stiles on his other side, and Peter beside him. “This is a Pack Outing, not a date.”

“I know,” he muttered back, catching Scott's pout at Peter for blocking him from sitting next to his best friend. “But I tried.”

“And, hey, points for effort,” she grinned. “But the week is still ticking.”

“I don't even get a reset?”

“Nope.”

“That's cold.”

“That's wizard's chess,” she smiled brightly, sharing a sly wink with Stiles. “Enjoy the movie, though. And make sure Stiles enjoys it too.”

The lights started to dim, and Stiles slipped his hand into Derek's, giving it a shy squeeze as the previews started.

Oh.

_Oh._

Okay, he could do this. He could totally do this. It was like a double-date, with Peter and Cali, and he knew Cali (and hopefully Peter, too) would respect their privacy and let him get away with a little flirting and strategic touching. He knew (in theory, anyway) what to do and how to do it, but given the chance now it felt a little much.

At least it did until Stiles shifted his hand from Derek's to his thigh, and gave it a gentle squeeze, earning a fond growl from the Alpha that Stiles returned with a smirk.

“If you two start necking, I will spill my drink all over you,” Peter put in a moment later. “But by all means, be gross and flirty with one another.”

“Should we switch?” Stiles looked to Peter. “Do you want to sit next to Cali?”

For a moment, it looked like Peter might say something, but then the tension in his neck eased, his eyes were almost _kind_ , and he shook his head.

“Just don't make me choke on my popcorn, and we're good here.”

“Thanks,” Stiles managed with a shy grin, bobbing his head as he looked to Derek. “We can do that, right?”

“I dunno, old man's constitution isn't what it used to be.”

“If you plan to talk through the movie, I will make it my mission to give you the worst suggestions at the worst possible moment,” Cali cut in. “Shh. I wanna see these.”

Derek shut up and returned his attention to the screen, only partly distracted by Stiles' hand still on his thigh, inching higher every few minutes, fingers tapping against him in a nervous tick that Derek found weirdly cute, despite not wanting to.

The previews went by quickly, one for a romantic comedy earning him a nudge and a wink from Stiles, and then the movie started.

Stiles had a way of hyper focusing, honing in on whatever one thing was very important at the moment, and in most cases, it was whatever was right in front of him. His hand kept disappearing into his bucket of popcorn at measured intervals, his knee bouncing when the plot got tense, but one hand stayed touching Derek during the entire movie, hovering near or on him at every moment.

And suddenly, it occurred to Derek that _he_ was what Stiles was focused on.

The movie and the popcorn were secondary, each chuckle or shift from the Alpha drawing his complete attention every time, honey eyes flicking from the screen with eager intensity, and Derek flushed under the realization.

He also got a touch harder, and had to slyly adjust as the hero went into a car chase, the action drawing everyone's attention to the screen— _except Stiles_.

Stiles paused his popcorn's journey and looked Derek over intently, a grin tugging onto his lips as he shifted as well, handing Derek his popcorn to hold as he made a show of taking off his jacket, draping it half over his lap, and half over Derek's.

The Alpha stiffened, catching the spike in Stiles' heartbeat as he relaxed back into his seat. He took the popcorn back, slipping his hand under the jacket and _directly across Derek's lap_.

He twitched and Stiles practically _purred_ , leaving his hand to tease along Derek's inseam and palm him through his jeans, the thick fabric a welcome friction, but not _nearly_ enough.

“ _Tease_ ,” Derek leaned over to breath against his ear. “If we stand up to leave and we're both sporting hard-ons, someone's going to notice.”

“Who said anything about walking out with them?” Stiles smirked. “Scott knows I like to watch through the credits, but he won't—he'll leave, and probably drag everyone else with him.”

“The lights will be up by then,” Derek argued, the growl evident in his voice now. “And I'm fond of these jeans.”

“Me too, they make your ass look _amazing_ ,” Stile hummed with a gentle squeeze through his jeans, turning to bat his eyelashes at Derek. “But if you're saying you want me to stop, then I suppose I can... Do you want me to stop, Derek?”

“I—”

_He was on his knees, Stiles buried in his throat, contorted and crammed into the tiny aisle as Stiles fucked his mouth, a hand on the back of his head, fingers carding through his hair, moaning praises over the sounds of the movie as Derek jerked off in time with his thrusts—_

“Derek,” Stiles repeated, hand on his knee, now, his fingernails biting gently into his skin. “Want me to stop?”

“Sorry, I—” he swallowed thickly and tried again. “Daydream.”

“Sorry,” Stiles smoothed his hand over Derek's thigh, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “I'll stop.”

Derek rested his hand on Stiles', returning the kiss, and smirked. “Maybe _after_ dinner.”

Stiles licked his lips and Derek _pointedly_ returned his attention to the screen, Stiles doing the same. He kept his hand on Stiles' under the jacket, though, thumb swiping over the boy's knuckles absently, a pleasant reminder that this was alright, Stiles was alright with it, and that it was totally okay for Derek to keep holding his hand like a complete sap.

The rest of the movie continued without any further Stiles-induced incidents, except for a sly kiss when the hero got the girl and kissed her passionately because it “ _looked like a good idea”_.

As the credits started to roll, Scott started to stand along with Allison and Isaac, but Stiles stayed resolutely where he was, Derek doing the same.

“Really?” Scott started, arms folded. “This again?”

“These hard working crews and techs deserve recognition and support,” Stiles recited dutifully. “If you want to turn your back on them, by all means, go ahead!”

“Scott, why don't you head to the restaurant? Grab us a table?” Cali beamed at him. “Peter? Play dad?”

“Only under _extreme_ duress,” he groused, winking at the Siren.

They shuffled out and Cali looked pointedly at Derek and Stiles, “You have to the end of the credits.”

Derek wasn't completely sure what she meant, for a moment, but then she serenely stood and moved to the exit, leaving the boys alone in semi-darkness.

“What did—”

Derek's question died as Stiles slipped from his seat and onto his knees, grinning up at Derek.

“Quicky in the theater?” He prompted with a wild grin.

“You're insane.”

“Well, what can I say, you make me crazy.”

“Stiles, I'm not—” heat climbed the back of his neck as Stiles pushed his legs gently apart, settling between them. “Not like this.”

Stiles froze, looking up at him, suddenly all tense muscles and flight instinct, color leaving his face as his shoulders curled in, chest caving in like Derek had just punched him.

“Oh, sorry, I—“ he cut himself short, shaking his head. “Don't know what I was thinking, I just wanted to—”

It was Derek's turn to interrupt him, pulling him up and into a kiss, cradling the back of his head as he slid the other around to Stiles' arm, dragging him into his lap. Stiles followed eagerly, chuckling into the kiss as Derek began to pull away, smirking up at him.

“I want you, Stiles,” Derek whispered, thumbing over his cheek. “But I want to dismantle you, a piece at a time, I don't want to just have a quicky in the theater.”

“Oh, uh, I mean,” Stiles was flushed. “That—that sounds acceptable, I suppose, if that's what you want, I mean, I can let that happen.”

Derek laughed, maneuvering him into his lap so they could both see the screen, “Aren't you supposed to be supporting these hard working crews?”

“I mean, yes, obviously, but I'm kinda supporting a few other hard things now too, and it's really difficult to pay attention.”

Derek palmed him through his jeans, and Stiles sucked in a breath, his heartbeat rocketing up as he shivered into the touch.

“Seems like it,” Derek grinned, smoothing his hand down Stiles' thigh. “Good thing we have to the end of the credits.”

“I hate you, I hate you so much,” Stiles squirmed, and Derek involuntarily growled into his shirt. “Yeah, that's what you get, sourwolf.”

“I am going to ravish you when we get home,” Derek gritted out, nuzzling into Stiles' shoulder with a hum. “Make you scream for me.”

“Do you _hear yourself_?” Stiles squeaked out. “You can't just say things like that right before we go to dinner! I have to sit at a table with _other werewolves_ , and they will _smell it on me._ I don't even know what _it_ is, but I bet they will.”

“So you're saying we can't skip the rest of the credits and go fuck in the bathroom like dumb teenagers?”

“I _hate you_ for that mental image.”

Derek grinned, letting the thought wash over him—

_Stiles bent over the toilet, bracing himself on the wall as Derek thrust into him from behind, a hand on his hip to keep him in place while the other worked over his hard cock, milking moans from the boy, loud enough the whole theater could hear them, Derek sucking bruises along Stiles' spine as his orgasm rippled through him—_

“Derek?” Stiles prompted. “The credits are over.”

“I'm gonna need a minute,” Derek huffed. “Another daydream, sorry...”

“It's okay, need me to move?”

He nodded, and Stiles gingerly extricated himself from Derek's lap, turning to press a quick kiss to his forehead.

“So I was thinking,” Stiles smirked. “Maybe next time you ask me out, you should do in in private.”

“Hey Stiles,” Derek looked up at him with a grin. “Will you go out with me?”

Stiles' jaw worked, color tinting his cheeks, and he nodded absently.

“Why the surprise, you said it.”

“I didn't expect you to do it _now_ ,” he hissed. “Or have it be so—so— _feral_. _”_

“Feral?”

“Dude, can't you feel that? You look like you're about to wolf out, Derek.”

He blinked, taking a few deep breaths, and felt his claws retract, “Sorry.”

“It's okay, are you—do you need a minute?”

“I'm okay,” Derek smiled, wobbling to his feet. “Dinner?”

“Oh, yeah, dinner,” Stiles nodded absently. “Dinner is good.”

“And after, some desert? Just us?”

Stiles' face lit up and he nodded, “I get to pick?”

“You get to pick.”

* * *

Dinner was pleasant, if a little loud, and Derek found himself laughing more times in the two hours they stayed at the table than he had in the past month. Peter and Cali were seated carefully again, to give them a little buffer, and Erica and Boyd had turned up for dinner unexpectedly after running patrols. Scott and Allison were being stupidly cute across from Derek and Stiles, and the Alpha felt the need to compete for cutest couple well up in his chest. He managed to quell it, although he gave in did play footsie with Stiles under the table, and held his hand out of sight of the others.

He managed to keep everything in check, until Erica finally rolled her eyes and broke the comfortable silence they had fallen into after a particularly long stint of laughter over a joke Isaac told.

“So who was Lydia's date?”

Lydia looked up from her phone, “My what?”

“Well, Peter and Cali are one couple,” Erica continued. “Allison and Scott makes a second, and Derek and Stiles are the third. So who's your date?”

They all collectively held their breaths as Erica looked back to Lydia, the redhead staring blankly at her.

“So if this is a double-double-date, who's your date?” Erica repeated. “Isaac?”

“”No!”” they yelped in unison.

“Okay, okay, don't have pups, it was just a question.”

“Erica, I'm pretty sure they both went Stag tonight,” Boyd put in with a smirk. “Don't take it personally, you two, she—”

“Derek and Stiles aren't a _couple!_ ” Scott interrupted, choking on his drink. “What? No!”

Stiles looked panicked as he glanced to Derek, who looked to him questioningly with what he hoped was a “ _well do we say something or not?”_

Stiles gave him a tiny, hopeful smile, and his heart-rate was calm.

“Well we would have been, Scott, if you hadn't hi-jacked our date tonight.”

Scott's jaw worked, but no noise came out, and Allison sipped her drink with raised eyebrows, “Scott, honey, we all knew.”

“ _I_ didn't!”

“As Allison said,” Peter smiled. “ _We_ all knew.”

“Oh,” Scott looked to the Alpha, head bowed slightly in submission. “Sorry, Derek, I didn't know...”

“It's fine,” Derek shrugged. “And, for the record, Cali, I asked Stiles out during the credits, and he said yes.”

“Oh, did he, now?” Cali perked up as Scott choked on his drink. “And how did you ask him, Derek?”

“I just—” he glanced around the table, suddenly _very_ aware of the eyes all glued to him. “Asked if he'd go out with me?”

“That's it?” Erica deadpanned, staring at him. “You just asked ' _will you go out with me?_ ” _._ That's all?”

“It beats the prompts Cali had,” he grumbled. “Those were _terrible_.”

“Prompts?” Stiles _beamed_. “Cali gave you _prompts_?”

“Peter helped,” Cali shrugged, shamelessly throwing him under the bus. “He had some _good ones_.”

“Yeah, did he ask you out with one of those?” Derek deflected.

“He did, actually,” Cali smirked. “Very poetic, quite effective. Obviously.”

“C'mon, Der, you couldn't use your imagination?” Isaac snorted.

“I'm imagining ways to dispose of your body,” Derek shot back.

“Hey, hey, I said yes—that's that matters, right? Stiles interjected, laughing.

“Why didn't you _tell me_?” Scott pouted.

“Because he asked me _literally an hour ago_ ,” Stiles shot back. “And I don't kiss and tell.”

Scott turned a rather impressive shade of red as Allison rolled her eyes like she wasn't even surprised.

“Well, since the proverbial cat is out of the bag,” Derek began, glancing around the table. “After dinner I'm taking Stiles for desert, and the rest of you are not invited.”

Peter snorted into his drink and Cali grinned, “Don't worry, Peter and I have plans, too.”

“Lydia,” can you get the rest of these rowdy kids home?” Derek asked.

“Am I the baby-sitter now?” She frowned faintly, but there was a laughter in her eyes that belied the tight line of her lips. “Ugh, fine, I'll get the kids home.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, the “I _owe you one_ ” implied but unspoken. “Want me to bring you back anything?”

“Black Cherry Truffle,” Lydia responded immediately. “Thanks.”

Derek grinned, nodding, “You got it.”

* * *

Now that Derek didn't feel the need to keep a careful distance from Stiles, he shamelessly held his hand as they left the restaurant, rested his hand on his knee as he drove them to the ice cream parlor, and slipped his hand into Stiles' back pocket as they stood at the counter and sampled flavors.

Derek tried every one that Stiles' suggested ( _including Superman, which he refused to admit he enjoyed)_ , and finally settled on Death By Chocolate, while Stiles chose a rich Red Velveteen.

“You sure you want that one?” Derek flicked an eyebrow at the fluffy whipped cream and red sprinkles,, now adorning the cone. “Won't the red dye play hell with your ADD?”

“Doesn't chocolate make dogs sick?” Stiles shot back, licking eagerly at the ice cream.

Derek watched his tongue swipe away a stray smear of whipped cream and felt a flush start to climb his neck, a hunger twisting his stomach into knots—

_Stiles on his bed, hands tied to the headboard, whipped cream dotting his body in strategic places—a perfect sundae for Derek to devour—he licked and suckled at the brunet's nipples, the rich cream mingling with Stiles' scent—earthy and soft—a groan bubbling from his throat as he started to finger him again—_

“Your ice cream is melting,” Stiles prompted. “Better eat it quick.”

Derek blinked and then started to eat his own Death By Chocolate.

“The daydreams getting bad again?” Stiles asked after a few moments of comfortable, creamy silence. “You had that faraway look again.”

“Yeah,” Derek cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah, I was licking whipped cream off of you, in that one.”

Stiles choked and ducked his head, “Oh?”

“Off your nipples, specifically,” Derek grinned, making a show of licking up a glob of his ice cream, his tongue curling at the end as he drew it into his mouth. “You were enjoying it.”

“Good to know your imagination is so accurate,” Stiles muttered.

“Oh, so we should keep that around, huh?” Derek prompted with a smirk, licking his lips slowly and deliberately. “Pick some up on our way back?”

“You mentioned ravishing me,” Stiles put in helpfully. “So that's up to you, sweetheart.”

“Mm, no,” Derek licked a long dribble of chocolate from the side of his cone. “No, I think I just want to taste _you_ tonight.”

Stiles made a noise Derek was certain he would deny later, and the Alpha smirked. They continued to eat in general silence, playing footsie under the table and chatting about the movie ( _“That car scene? Insane!”_ ), until Derek finally decided that he should have a heart-to-heart right now whether he really wanted to or not.

“So, I'm sorry if I've been... distant, lately,” Derek began softly, half-way into his cone. “I was... I felt guilty that we, well, uhm, were... that we had sex before we had a date, and I... I didn't want to do that again until we were actually together...”

“And you didn't tell me all of this sooner becaaaauuuuse?”

“Because I was nervous, and I didn't want you to turn me down, and I thought you'd tell me I was being an idiot—”

“Because you are.”

“—so I just didn't tell you.”

“Un-huh.”

Derek put all his focus onto the cone in his hand and waited for Stiles to start tearing into him. He expected a rant on his dumb behavior, on leaving Stiles out of relationship decisions, on being such a _fucking idiot_ about matters of the heart.

But the rant never came.

Stiles nudged him with his foot, and he glanced back up to catch sight of Stiles' 1000-watt smile. It reached all the way to his eyes, made his cheeks dimple, and gave Derek a warm feeling in his chest that he never got from anyone else.

“You're dumb, but I get it, and I love you,” Stiles chuckled. “I felt awkward too, honestly, but—but I'm glad you waited, and I'm glad you asked me out, and I'm glad you talked to me about it.”

Derek returned a smile of his own, less luminous, he assumed, but genuine.

“But next time, can you get your head out of your ass long enough to just _talk to me?”_

“I'll try.”

“Good enough.”

Stiles gave his cone four very determined licks before he broke into a grin that made Derek's stomach do weird twisty things that did not bode well for him.

“So, to clarify, are you saying we're actually together? Cause you sort of just implied that we were, but I want to be absolutely sure, just so you don't have _massive_ morning-after guilt because I will not stand for that, Young Man, if you to share a bed with me tonight I expect you to fucking _enjoy it_ , so if you want to back out now, this is the time to step up and—“

The rest of his sentence was devoured by a hungry kiss from the Alpha, tongue sneaking out to taste the sugared seam of Stiles' lips before Derek sank back into his seat and returned his attention to his own ice cream.

“As far as I'm concerned, we are.”

Stiles brought back the 1000-watt smile, “Good enough.”

“Now finish your ice cream so we can get out of here, and I can fucking enjoy you.”

Stiles made an undignified sound that made Derek smirk, and returned his attention to his ice cream. They ate in relative silence, except for the occasional comment or kiss made to clean away errant ice cream, and Derek somehow managed to remember Lydia's pint of ice cream on the way out the door.

He would have to remember to thank her again later. After tonight. Because there were more important things to do first.

 

* * *

_Left your ice cream in the downstairs freezer, thanks again for watching the kids._

Derek sent the message as he closed the aforementioned freezer, barely managing to get it sent as Stiles wrapped his arms around him from behind, nuzzling into the space between his shoulder blades. His back arched softly and he made a noise in the back of his throat that was almost a chuckle.

“Stiles,” he warned, the name a growl.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he huffed and stretched up to kiss the back of Derek's neck, a hand still on his waist as he pulled back. “Your room or mine?”

“Mine,” Derek managed, navigating them toward the elevator. “It's quieter.”

“What, you don't think I will be?”

Derek sent him a look, an eyebrow arched, and Stiles grinned.

“Shut up,” he snorted.

“I didn't say anything.”

“Your eyebrows did all the talking,” Stiles shot back. “I swear they have sentience, or something, it's _weird_.”

“You're weird.”

“Your _face_ is—” Stiles stopped, leaning up to kiss Derek's cheek. “Lovely and rugged and wonderfully kissable and have I mentioned hot?”

Heat crawled up Derek's neck and he shook his head, “C'mon.”

He tugged Stiles to the elevator and thumbed the button, hands carefully in his pockets, eyes trained on the climbing number as the elevator came to meet them, but then Stiles' hands were on his waist, spinning him around and pressing him back into the doors with a forceful kiss.

He managed a half-formed complaint before he gave in, groaning softly into the kiss as Stiles' hands slipped up under his shirt, tracing over his sides and stomach, fingers lightning quick and curious. He touched Derek like it was the first time, mouth moving hungrily against the Alpha's as he was pressed against the door, their bodies connecting in a long line of heat.

He heard the elevator ding, and tried to push Stiles away, but he wasn't fast enough, the doors sliding open and both of them collapsing back against the elevator floor.

Stiles started to laugh, face buried in Derek's neck, but Derek saw who else was in the elevator, and flushed under their combined, curious looks.

“Just couldn't wait til you got upstairs, I take it?” Peter put in coolly, an eyebrow arched.

“I mean, you couldn't either,” Cali grinned at him, offering Stiles a hand as the brunet's head jerked up. “You're just as bad, don't pretend not to be.”

Peter made no comment, but Derek had the satisfaction of watching him sulk in the corner of the elevator as Stiles got to his feet and helped haul Derek up.

“Going down?” Cali prompted with a wicked smile.

“I'm fairly certain they're already up,” Peter snorted from his corner, but he pressed the button for their floor and sent Derek a smirk.

Stiles managed to get himself under control fairly quickly, given his usual lack of chill around Peter, but just as Derek was about to say something, the doors closing, a daydream rippled into being, overlaying reality in a curtain of shimmering movement and—

_And Derek was on his knees, Stiles pressed into the wall of the elevator, jeans just low enough to let Derek take him in his mouth while, beside him, Peter did the same to Cali, the Siren giving them instructions and encouragements, moaning as Peter devoured her, Stiles watching and blushing, shaking as he looked back to Derek and whispered “Der, I'm gonna—”_

“—come?”

Derek snapped back to the present, breathing hard and scarlet as Stiles held out his hand to the Alpha, a line of worry forming between his eyebrows as Derek glanced to Peter and Cali, the pair of them wearing identical concerned expressions.

“Derek, are you okay?” Cali asked softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder, but Derek flinched away from her, and she froze. “Hey, hey, it's okay.”

“Sorry, yes, I just—” he shook his head to clear it and took a deep breath. “Never had someone else star in a daydream before.”

Peter _bristled_ in a way that had Derek taking a step back, claws extending, and Cali moved between them at once.

“Go be with Stiles,” she instructed. “We can talk about that later.”

Stiles grabbed Derek's hand and pulled, hauling him from the elevator and toward his loft, lacing their fingers together as they went.

“Did Cali show up?”

There was no teasing tone in Stiles' voice, no indication that he would give Derek endless shit for this later. There was no particular intonation in his voice, but something about the way he just kept dragging Derek up the stairs didn't feel right, so the Alpha stopped, and Stiles turned to look at him.

“As an aside,” he managed. “All my attention, my focus and desire, was on you.”

The rigid set in Stiles' shoulders relaxed, and he leaned in for a soft, quick kiss, “I still get jealous, sometimes.”

Derek laughed.

“This is no laughing matter! This is my heart, we're talking about, you insensitive little shit!” Stiles folded his arms. “You are just the rudest, honestly, there must be something wrong with me, I don't know what I find attractive about you.”

“My face, for one,” Derek supplied with a grin, earning a smirk from Stiles. “And, if I'm not mistaken, the last time I got shirtless in front of you, you came in your pants at the sight.”

“Oh you shut your mouth, I was under the influence of weird magic and you fucking know it.”

“Oh, so you're saying you wouldn't come again, if I asked?”

Stiles was red, now, and backed against the wall,caught between a wolf and a hard place.

“Cause, Stiles,” Derek leaned in to whisper against his ear, thumbs catching at his waistband as he dragged their hips together. “I'd love to see that again.”

Stiles let out a whimper, and Derek threw caution to the wind, biting at his neck as he ground their hips together, shoving Stiles back into the wall. He groaned into Stiles ear as the brunet gasped, arms going around his shoulders, and Derek made short work of his belt and jeans.

Stiles managed to kick them off, Derek tearing his boxers off in a quick movement that made Stiles' hips jump and a whimper leave him again. He crashed their lips together as Derek fumbled to get out of his own pants, Stiles breaking the kiss long enough to tug his shirt up over his head before he dragged Derek back in again, fingers running through his hair as he held on for dear life.

With a chuckle and a quick shift, Derek pulled Stiles' legs up around his waist, nuzzling into his neck as he took a moment to breathe, rubbing his hand over Stiles' thigh and hip, the brunet panting softly into his ear.

“Fuck, Der, please—“ he began. “Please, can you fuck me right here? Please? I'm not gonna make it to your room.”

“I can do that,” Derek grinned, kissing softly over Stiles' neck. “If that's what you want.”

“Yeah,” Stiles managed, tipping his head back to give Derek more room. “That's what I want, please, please, just like this, I—”

His voice caught in his throat as Derek adjusted him slightly, nudging the head of his cock against Stiles' entrance, earning a low groan from the boy. He started out slowly, shushing Stiles' whimpers and pleading for more with soft kisses and gentle strokes to his cock. By the time he was inside, Stiles was shaking and whimpering, his lip red and raw from being bitten shut.

“I've got you,” Derek whispered. “I've got you, Stiles, it's alright.”

“Fuck, Derek, please,” he babbled. “ _More_.”

Derek started to quicken his pace, nibbling over Stiles' shoulder, leaving red marks in his wake. He shifted again, taking more of Stiles' weight onto him, changing angles and starting to stroke Stiles in time with his thrusts, earning a gasp and a choked off moan from the boy.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles gasped. “Yes, Der, like that, please, just don't stop, please don't stop, need this like I need air, I— _”_

Derek kissed him, the burning, coiling heat in his stomach ready to burn him alive if he didn't finish soon, the hunger for Stiles almost more than he could keep down. His claws started to extend, the wolf in him coming out in a low growl that rumbled through both of them, Stiles shuddering as he clawed at Derek's back, sure to leave angry red marks.

A roar left him as he felt Stiles tighten around him, the brunet coming with a strangled gasp of his name. He kept moving, kept thrusting, until he was sure he was spent, and then pulled out of Stiles, holding him gently against the wall.

“Hey,” Stiles ran a finger over his forehead, the raised flesh indicating the shift. “Hey, Derek, it's okay.”

Derek took a few deep breaths, running his nose along Stiles' pulse, the familiar scent soothing as he shifted back, a weary laugh tumbling past his lips as he kissed up Stiles' pulse.

“Needed that more than I thought,” he managed.

“Yeah, you maniac, I could tell,” Stiles laughed, pushing at his shoulders. “Mind putting me down, now, so I can pick up what's left of my dignity along with my clothes.”

“Nope,” Derek pulled him from the wall, walking them both toward Derek's room. “You're not gonna need either of those for the rest of the night.”

Stiles started to splutter indignantly, but Derek laughed, and cut him off with a kiss.

“I love you, Stiles.”

The brunet flushed, effectively silenced, and Derek managed to get them into his room and close the door behind them.

“Now, unless you're very much opposed to the idea, I'm going to devour you. Sound good?”

A sly smirk started to spread onto Stiles' lips as a mischievous light sparked in his eyes, “Good enough.”

 


	3. If you Have an Impulse; Let it Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter came around in a slow bleed of light to his eyelids, a groan bubbling out of him as his head lolled to the side, eyes squinting against the light. He tried to move, and found his hands were bound, a growl rumbling out of him as he tried to get his bearings.
> 
> “We've got to stop meeting like this,” a familiar voice from his right spoke—Derek, tired, rough, probably in no better shape than him—a snort soon following. “What would Cali say?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter/Cali, now with 100% more puns.
> 
> Hope that's not a fishue for y'all. :D

When Peter wakes, it's to a shocking lack of Cali in the bed beside him. He rolls over, scans the room, takes a deep breath and tries to keep his heart from pounding out of his chest.

He still remembers the last time this happened.

Her scent is still fresh, lingering on the sheets and around the room, so she can't have been gone long. He listens for water in the bathroom and hears none, flicks off the covers and goes to look for light from under the door.

He closes his eyes and focuses, rubbing a hand absently over the tattoo on his thigh that connects them, the tether that holds Cali to him as her anchor—he can sense where she is, and focuses in on the tiny tug that guides him along, like a string tied to his sternum.

 _Two stories up, a few feet to his left_.

He hurries to the stairs and rushes up them. She's moving back and forth ( _Pacing? No, too quick,_ swimming), and he wonders why she didn't wake him, if she couldn't sleep.

He exits the door onto the roof and lets out a breath he'd been holding since he started following the thread, catching sight of her movement in the water, the flash of scales catching the low light.

Derek had installed it a week after Cali had moved in, a salt-water pool on he roof of the building for whenever she needed to feel the water against her scales, the gazebo covering made from frosted glass for privacy, the door currently ajar as an invitation.

Peter made a circuit of the perimeter, out of habit, and then slipped into the pool house.

The lights in the pool house were soft, all hooded to allow Cali the freedom to swim without being blinded, and the pool was built more like a large aquarium tank, taking up almost a full half of the roof by itself. A set of stairs led from the floor to the lip of the tank, and there was a lip that ran around the edge of the tank with a bench.

Cali, fully shifted, was doing figure eights in the center of the pool.

Peter never got tired of seeing her like this, her long tail shimmering in blues and greens, the fins on her back and arms the same peach as her hair, and the webbing between her fingers delicate as lace. Her tail fins were ridged like a Beta fish, and looked like silk as she moved through the water.

Peter gave into his temptation and tapped the glass of the pool, despite the small, nondescript sign that told him explicitly not to (Stiles' addition to the pool that Cali had laughed at for a day straight).

Her head snapped around, eyes narrowed, and then she saw him and relaxed, a smile spreading onto her face as she swam over to him, putting her hand against the glass, Peter doing the same.

They stayed like that for a moment, the itch under Peter's skin from being separated slowly easing, and when she pulled away, she motioned to the stairs, and he dutifully climbed them.

“I was worried,” he spoke when her head broke the surface. “If you couldn't sleep, you should have woken me.”

“I know,” she frowned. “I didn't... You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to wake you.”

He flicked an eyebrow at her and she ignored it.

“Do you want to join me?”

“I was hoping you'd join me, again, in bed,” he folded his arms. “It's freezing up here.”

“You're the one with no shirt on.”

“I was worried,” he repeated, slower, and had the satisfaction of her looking properly cowed. “Shirts were secondary to finding you.”

“Sorry,” she managed, giving a flick of her tail to push herself up and catch the lip of the pool, folding her arms atop it, smiling at him. “I left a note, I guess it fell off the pillow.”

Peter hadn't even thought to check for a note.

“We can go back to bed.”

She started to pull herself up onto the lip, and Peter set his hand on her shoulder.

“We can stay, if you like.”

Her smile was small and soft, the lines around her eyes crinkling even with so small a gesture.

“I'm getting sleepy, again,” she admitted. “I'd like to go back to bed.”

“I'll get you a towel.”

Peter stood and climbed back down the ladder, moving to the cubbies that were set against one wall by the door. He bent to pick up a big, fluffy towel, and lost focus for a moment, a thought slipping, unbidden, into his mind—

_Cali shivering as she shifted closer to him, nuzzling into his neck as he pulled her closer, arms wrapped tight around her, her lips murmuring her assent before they found his pulse and nipped at it, his heart spiking—_

“Peter?”

He straightened, turning and offering her the towel.

“Thought it was already wet for a moment,” he bluffed. “My mistake.”

She took it and started to dry off, the scent of salt-water drifting to meet Peter's nose, undercut by a soft, floral, _something_ that was just Cali. She squeezed the excess from her hair, and then wrapped the towel around herself, shivering.

“Shall we?”

“Come on,” Peter pulled her to him, rubbing his hands over her back to try and warm her, leading them back through the door and down the steps. “Let's get you to bed, now.”

“I dunno, I'm pretty cold,” she smirked. “Might have to warm me up, first.”

Peter rolled his eyes, but there was a tiny smirk that belied the expression.

“Unbelievable,” he sighed.

* * *

Saturday dawned cool and quiet, Peter waking in degrees until he finally blinked his eyes open to see Cali's hair spilling across the pillow beside him, her breathing still deep and even— _asleep._

He thought, for a moment, of slipping from the bed without waking her, but instantly dismissed it after the incident the night before.

_Waking her with kisses, slow and gentle, hands pulling her closer, touches soft and fleeting, a chuckle of a greeting before he claimed her—_

Peter shook his head to clear it, and rested a hand on her back, palm flat to her shoulder blade.

For a moment, there was nothing, so he slowly moved his hand in small circles, and Cali made a soft noise as she pressed into the touch.

“Th's nice,” she mumbled.

“Would breakfast be nicer?” Peter grinned.

“Not nicer than you,” she rolled over and into him, sighing deeply. “We could let the kids fend for themselves.”

“There will be a riot, and you know it.”

“Worth it.”

He kissed her head and chuckled, relishing the moment for as long as he had it. She rested her head on his shoulder, rearranging herself around him, and he snorted as they heard a crash from down the hall, followed by the distinctive sound of Stiles laughing.

“Shut _up_ , Stiles,” Derek warned.

“You are like a _baby deer_ in the morning!” Stiles was laughing harder, barely getting the words out. “ _How do you function_?”

“Usually with coffee.”

“That's our cue,” Peter put in.

“It's your cue.”

“You'd leave me to the baby deer?”

“I'd never leave you,” she hissed, soft and fierce as she clung to him. “But, well, yes, I'd leave you to the baby deer.”

“The sentiment is lost, then,” Peter sighed, trying to extricate himself from her grasp. “I'm starting to think you're part _octopus_ , not fish.”

“Why, cause I'm such a _sucker_ for you?” She grinned up at him.

“I'm going to do the adult thing and pretend you didn't just make that joke.”

“I can't help it, I'm just _stuck on you_.”

Peter groaned and managed to pull himself free, rolling out of bed.

“No, come back, otherwise I'll be _octolone_!”

"You're worse than Stiles.”

“Oh, that is a lie, and you know it,” she followed him, tugging on a robe as he snagged a shirt and pulled it over his head. “My jokes are clearly a ten out of ten-tacle.”

Peter ignored her and kept walking, entering the kitchen in time to see Derek pulling back sharply from where Stiles was leaning against the counter.

“Tell Cali she's impossible,” he instructed, ignoring their matching blushes to make a bee-line for the coffee maker.

“Uh, excuse you,” Cali flounced into the room behind him. “I'm on a sushi roll.”

Peter shot her a look and she grinned at Stiles and Derek.

“He had the nerve to call me part octopus.”

“Why, cause you're a sucker for him?” Stiles shot back with a grin.

“And because I'm stuck on him,” Cali agreed with a nod. “Maybe he's tired of me being all hands?”

“Sounds fishy,” Stiles nodded sagely, earning an eye-roll from Derek and Peter. “You two don't even know, you're in deep water, now.”

“Maybe I should change my name,” she suggested. “Something more fitting—Cali Mari.”

Stiles started to laugh, and Derek even cracked a smirk as Peter shook his head, pulling ingredients from the fridge for breakfast.

“Oh, come on, Peter, no need to be so salt-watery about it,” she smirked. “That's my job, remember?”

He threw her a nasty look, but he was starting to crack, a smile lurking on the edges of his lips.

“Careful not to get too close, Cali, he might try sea- _slug_ you,” Stiles put in helpfully. “The scales are clearly in your favor, though.”

“Yikes, I might have to start walking on seashells, if this keeps up.”

“Are you sea _shore_ you want to keep this going?” Derek managed with a tiny grin.

“Yes!” Stiles punched the air. “Three to one, the tide has turned in our favor!”

“I _sea change_ in his future, though,” Cali stalked over to him, grinning. “We don't want you as an anemone, Peter.”

Peter slammed down the frying pan he had just pulled out and spun around, “I know you're angler-ing for a joke, but I won't take the bait.”

The room was silent for a moment before Stiles let out a high-pitched sound, his mega-watt grin pointedly directly at Peter.

“We did it,” he squeaked. “We wore him down—we _broke him_.”

“You might say we _eroded_ his defenses.”

“If you want breakfast, you will _stop_ ,” Peter growled.

“I don't know,” Derek turned around and grinned. “Sounds to me like you're _floundering_.”

“He's sunk,” Stiles nodded sagely.

“Oh, and we will ride this wave _all day_.”

Stiles cackled as he grabbed Derek's hand and dragged him off with a mutter of “ _washing the puns off_ ”, and Cali moved to help Peter with breakfast.

“I love you, you know,” she managed after a moment's still silence.

Peter huffed out a laugh, shaking his head, “I know.”

“Good,” she smiled. “Jokes aside, you are my Anchor, and I wouldn't want to lose you for the world.”

He knew what it would mean if she did, how painful it would be, how _damaged_ she might be afterwards.

“I won't let that happen, Cali,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her. “I promise.”

“I know,” she bumped her hip into his, their marks brushing in a flash of sensation and heat. “I just need to remind you of it now and then.”

 _Cali, sobbing in their room, the sheets long cold; Cali on the bottom of her pool, alone; Cali singing to the shoreline with no one to listen; Cali screaming and summoning up storms; Cali_ without him—

“I—“ he stopped, took a breath, tried again. “I'm here to protect you, Cal, and _I will_.”

She leaned into him, sharing space, and smiled, “Can you make me breakfast, first?”

“I don't know, are you dun making puns?”

“Jury's out,” she winked. “But for now? Sure, I'll behave.”

He snorted at that, but handed her a carton of eggs and motioned to the frying pan, “Behave by breaking those into there for me.”

“Sure thing, Captain,” she smirked.

He kissed her again.

* * *

“I still think going on patrols alone is a terrible idea.”

“We're going in pairs, we're not going to be alone.”

Stiles looked to Derek with raised eyebrows, “I'm sorry, but one of us is a useless human and the other is a big, bad, creature of the night, so really, _who's_ alone?”

“Stiles, talking draws the creatures to you, you know that, right?” Peter put in helpfully. “Besides, you know, what, two whole spells, now?”

“Two and _a half_ ,” Stiles defended with a huff. “And that's not—they're _defensive_.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Peter muttered, earning an elbow to the ribs from Cali as they all geared up together.

“Stiles, if you want, we can switch this up and you can come with me and Isaac,” Cali offered. “I don't want to cramp your style, but maybe having Derek and Peter run together will help keep you focused.”

Stiles' ears tipped red, and he folded his arms, “Well maybe that would be nice.”

“You ditching me with the kids?” Peter asked, voice low and rife with concern. “You know that doesn't end well, Cal...”

“Hey, hey, _relax_ ,” a suggestion, and he felt his heart calm. “It'll be fine, _I'll_ be fine—you can keep an ear on me, okay?

He growled faintly, despite her suggestion, and she put a hand over his heart.

“Peter, _listen to me_.”

He honed in on her, the suggestion making the other sounds around them start to dim as he gave her his full attention. It wasn't a command, for which he was infinitely grateful—Cali tried her best not to order him unless she had to, and he willingly gave into the suggestion to listen.

“I will be within two miles, you know what that means? You can hear me, if I sing, and you can get to me in _no time_. Okay? I'll be with Isaac and Stiles, and I will be fine.”

“I don't like having you out of my sight,” he admitted in a whisper, sounding vulnerable even to himself. “My skin itches and everything feels off.”

“I can send someone else, if you want,” she offered, glancing back to the group. “We can do three groups instead—”

“No, no, it's fine,” he sighed, taking a deep breath of her scent, resting a hand on her hip. “I need you to tell me to relax, though.”

She smiled, slipping an arm around his waist as the other continued to rest on his chest, warm against his hammering heart, “ _Peter, relax, just breathe_.”

He breathed, his heart slowing and the itch under his skin easing.

“ _If I sing, come straight to me,_ ” she continued, weaving a full command into the words _. “Run patrol, and I will be waiting for you right here_.”

He took another deep breath, held it for a count of five, and released it again, “I'll go with Derek and Lydia, then.”

“Howl if you need me,” she winked.

“Don't think I won't,” he grinned.

“Do I not get a say in this?” Lydia asked from her perch on the hood of Stiles' Jeep.

“Do you want a say in this?” Cali asked, looking to the redhead. “If you want to go with someone else, Lydia, that's fine. I just thought you'd be safest with these two dorks.”

She pursed her lips, a tiny quirk of her mouth the only indication she was smiling, and then shrugged, hopping from the hood and walking toward Peter.

“Then that's okay, I guess.”

“Perfect!” Cali turned and stretched up to steal a kiss from Peter, leaving him a little breathless. “We'll see you back here soon.”

She turned and beckoned to Isaac and Stiles, heading off toward the South, and Peter watched her go, closing his eyes for a long moment, remembering to feel her through the connection, catch the hint of her scent on the air.

“She'll be fine,” Derek whispered, watching them go. “The sooner we finish patrolling, the sooner we get back to them, right?”

“Right.”

* * *

“So how does being an Anchor work?”

Cali snorted as she glanced at Stiles, an eyebrow raised, “You mean in general, or specifically for Sirens?”

“Well, you know... Mostly for you.”

Isaac was about 30ft ahead of them, alert and sweeping the forest, Cali staying by Stiles as they watched his back, moving carefully along the path. Cali had a small crossbow, and Stiles had been entrusted with supplies for his spells, should he need to use them.

“It's a binding ritual,” Cali continued softly, scanning the treeline to her left. “A sort of...blood pact. The Siren gains the ability to control a pack member, and the pack member is bound in service to protect the Siren. It's built on trust and a mutual respect for one another. Once the binding is complete, the two parties can always sense where the other one is—distance and direction, and they have a better insight into each other's emotions.”

“So you know where Peter is right now?”

“About a mile and a half that way,” Cali jerked her head. “He's nervous.”

“Being apart isn't good for you, right?”

“It's not ideal,” Cali chuckled. “When you... When we made the bond, we were both pretty young, and we grew into it together. It made it stronger, and it means we have... we're a lot closer than most Sirens are with their anchors. But that means that being apart is harder—too much distance and Peter will go through withdrawals, like you did before, but... well, worse.”

“That sounds like it would _suck_.”

“It does,” she whispered. “It's like you're drowning—your lungs are on fire and nothing can stop it. You try to breathe and it just makes it worse.”

“How—“ Stiles stopped, blinking. “Oh, God, how did you two survive after the fire?”

“I almost didn't,” she whispered. “Peter was in so much pain that it bled through the connection. I passed out in the woods one night because it was so bad... I sneaked into town one night and... And I told him to heal. I commanded him to fix himself. And he did. I stayed in touch, I made sure Derek visited him, kept him company and told him that I was alright.”

“And it worked?”

“For the most part,” she laughed. “Like I said, we're a lot closer than most anchors and Sirens are, and that—that didn't help things. I think after being apart so long, Peter managed to... build up a tolerance, so-to-speak, but when I came back, it just backfired. Now he needs to be around me more than normal, to keep me within arm's reach.”

“No wonder he never lets you out of sight,” Stiles muttered, glancing the direction she had told him Peter was. “I'd be the same way, if I had gone through something like that.”

“I never want him to have to be without me, again,” she continued. “Not like that. It nearly killed both of us, being torn apart, and—and I don't like to imagine what would happen if I ever lost him.”

“Would you die?”

There was a smile on her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes, and Stiles felt something cold and hard sink into the pit of his stomach as she turned to look at him.

“Not right away,” she breathed.

Stiles opened his mouth to say something— _anything, anything at all, tell her that wasn't right, that wasn't the way to handle it, jeez, they would look after her, God, she wasn't alone anymore, she had a_ pack _now—_ but then he heard Lydia scream.

Cali was past him and headed into the woods before he or Isaac had done anything more than turn in the direction of the sound, an answering scream tearing from her throat, half-song, ringing into the trees.

“ _Peter!”_

Stiles shook himself and took off after her, Isaac zipping past a second later, dashing past the Siren, even though she was doing her level best to keep up with him.

“ _No!”_

She screamed, the song chilling Stiles as he faltered in his race across the forest, an audible whimper coming from Isaac as he tripped and then recovered, glancing back at her.

“ _Run!”_

It was like Stiles had been visited by Hermes, his feet suddenly light as a feather, catching up to and keeping pace with Cali as Isaac shot forward on all fours, dodging through the trees and into the night.

“What's—“ Stiles stopped as Cali suddenly froze, dropping to her knees. “Cali!”

“Passing out,” she whispered. “Drugged him, I can—Stiles—“

She pitched forward, and Stiles let out a yelp as he spun around and caught her before she could hit the ground, tears running down her face as she trembled in his arms.

“Stiles—someone took Peter.”

Stiles wanted to ask about Derek, horror suddenly welling up in his chest, but he heard a distant, mournful howl, answered by another, and another, and another.

_Isaac, Scott, Erica, Boyd-_

And then there was silence.

“Derek,” he whispered.

“I'm so sorry, Stiles,” Cali whispered. “I'm so—”

She stopped, her words dropping off into musical notes as she sobbed, the broken music like scattering glass in the stillness of the night as Stiles held her and tried to remember how to breath.

“We'll get them back, Cali,” he whispered, feeling the wind change, a storm springing up out of nowhere.

The summer night turned chilly with whipping winds as rain began to fall around them, a distant rumble of thunder and the flash of lightning illuminating the clearing where they had collapsed. Cali's voice turned hard, and Stiles didn't need to understand the words to know it was a promise of pain to whomever had taken Peter and Derek.

A chill shot up his spine as he realized that whoever had done this either knew who they were dealing with, or was about to be very surprised.

“We'll get them back,” he repeated, more to himself this time, and she nodded.

“And there will be hell to pay.”

* * *

Peter came around in a slow bleed of light to his eyelids, a groan bubbling out of him as his head lolled to the side, eyes squinting against the light. He tried to move, and found his hands were bound, a growl rumbling out of him as he tried to get his bearings.

“We've got to stop meeting like this,” a familiar voice from his right spoke—Derek, tired, rough, probably in no better shape than him—a snort soon following. “What would Cali say?”

“Cali,” Peter hissed, the mark on his thigh burning with distance and need. His skin started to crawl and he pulled in a breath through his teeth, straining against the chains on his wrists.

“Easy, easy,” Derek intervened before he could hurt himself. “The chains are magic—I already tried breaking out—no luck.”

“Where are we?”

"Somewhere new—smells like fresh paint and silver.”

Peter groaned, “ _Hunters_.”

“More than likely.”

“Cali's gonna kill them,” Peter hummed, head swimming already from the distance. “Gonna turn them to red mist.”

“Red mist?” Derek echoed, eyebrows knitting together. “She...can do that?”

“She can do anything she sets her mind to,” Peter bit out, sweat beading over his forehead. “She'll sure as hell come find us.”

“Yeah, yeah, she's probably already on the way,” Derek chuckled. “She'll find us in no time.”

“Sooner the better,” Peter growled, claws extending. “The distance is, probably literally, killing me.”

“And you say you're not a romantic,” Derek interjected.

Peter laughed, fading into a wince as—

– _as Cali pushed him down onto their bed, grinning as she pinned his hands above his head, “Stay”, the command overwhelmed him, and he groaned faintly as she kissed down his chest, nails scraping faintly over his sides, just enough to ground him—_

“Peter!”

He gasped, snapping back to reality, eyes shifting onto Derek, his nephew not fairing any better.

“You calling out my name when you should be calling out Stiles'?” Peter snorted. “What would he say?”

“Get a room, presumable,” Derek panted, eyes glossing over for a moment.

“Derek,” Peter called, snapping him out of it. “Talk to me, c'mon—just talk to me.”

“Does the poisoning just get worse?” Derek gasped. “Like it, uh, hasn't... you know, been that long, for me.”

“Excessive exposure makes the withdrawals worse,” Peter grumbled. “It's not even really poison, it—it's like drinking espresso for months at a time, and then suddenly switching to decaf. Your body doesn't know how to adjust normally, so it goes into overdrive.”

“I hate it,” Derek growled. “Not, I don't—I don't hate _Cali_ , I—”

“No, I know,” Peter smiled. “I hated it, too, for a while. Hated _her_ for awhile too.”

“But not anymore?”

“Not anymore,” Peter confirmed with a chuckle. “She came back—she kept her promise, and she came back and—and everything was perfect, for a little while.”

“Deacon calls it _regression to the mean_ ,” Derek huffed.

“Deacon is an idiot,” Peter grinned. “Hopped up little druid.”

“Doesn't _Cali_ do magic?”

“She has _powers_ , it isn't _magic_ , there is a difference.”

“She seems sorta magical.”

Peter raised an eyebrow at him and he cleared his throat.

“I didn't—it wasn't _intentional_ , when the daydreams included her, it—“

“She does that to people,” Peter interrupted. “I'd be lying if I said Stiles hadn't, heh, popped up in mine from time to time.”

Derek growled, and Peter felt his stomach drop—

– _and he was growling into Cali's ear, fingers tangled with hers as he pounded into her, her cries muffled against his shoulder, whimpering, begging him not to stop, begging him to—_

The door banged open, and Peter sucked in a breath, shaking his head to clear it.

“Good to see you're back with us,” the Alpha, a blond with stilettos, strode into the room with a smirk, flanked by a pair of Betas. “Can't have you dying before your lovely Siren shows up.”

“You're very calm for a dead woman,” Peter grinned. “I don't know what you were thinking, but I do know she's going to kill you when she gets here.”

“I was thinking I would keep you here, submissive, as bait and a bargaining chip—Anchors, I hear, tend to only come around once in a lifetime.”

“Then you should also know that my Siren is going to do everything in her power to get me back.”

The Alpha smiled sharply, “Oh, I'm counting on it, Hale.”

 

* * *

"Erica, you and Boyd take Isaac and Scott in the van. Don't follow me in unless I call for you,” Cali instructed, checking the clip on her gun. “Allison, Stiles, you're with me. Lydia, go home.”

Lydia started to protest, but the Siren put a hand on her shoulder gently.

“You've been through enough, for one night,” Cali whispered. “Get some rest. Try to find out who did this. Talk to Sheriff Stilinski, see if there's someone new in town.”

Lydia nodded, grabbing a crossbow from the van before she headed toward her car.

“We're moving out in two,” Cali called out, moving toward Derek's car. “Allison, Stiles, I'll drive.”

“Do you have keys?” Stiles asked.

“No, but I know how to hot-wire a care.”

Stiles fumbled through his pocket before offering her a key to the Camaro.

“Brilliant, I was _not_ looking forward to that conversation.”

Stiles managed a faint smile, nodding, and slid into the passenger seat. The car still smelled like Derek, and Stiles swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“Buckle up,” Cali instructed, revving the engine and taking off.

Stiles yelped, fumbling with his seat-belt, and glanced over to see Cali's knuckles turning white against the steering wheel.

“You can feel him, right?” Stiles started, glancing from her to the road. “Is—are they—”

“He's fine, Stiles, they're both fine,” Cali smiled, gentle and encouraging. “ _Breathe_ , _it'll be okay_.”

Stiles didn't fight the assurance, letting it roll over him, and breathed.

“No offense, but what are we going to do when we get there?” Allison put in. “Stiles isn't really, uh, battle ready.”

“He's support,” Cali grinned, and Stiles swore he saw fangs. “Speaking of, Stiles, can you call Peter?”

Stiles dug his phone from his pocket and dialed Peter, waiting til it began ringing to hand it to Cali.

It connected, and an unfamiliar female voice sounded in Cali's ear.

“ _So nice of you to check on your boy_.”

“I want proof of life, _now_.”

“ _You're in no position to—_ ”

Cali opened her mouth, and Stiles didn't hear anything, but the woman on the other end seemed to drop the phone, a loud clatter following.

“How about now?” Cali asked after rapid breathing sounded in the phone again.

“ _Cal?”_ Peter hissed.

“ _Don't hear me_ ,” Cali instructed immediately, tilting the phone toward Stiles.

“On the way!” Stiles called.

“ _Proof enough_?”

"And the other one,” Cali growled.

There was a pause and some rustling, and then Derek's voice sounded.

“ _Cali?_ ”

“ _Don't hear me_ ,” Cali repeated, and there was a pause before Derek repeated himself.

“ _Cali? Can you hear me?_ ”

“Yes, Derek, I can.”

“ _Cali, wait, I can't—_ ”

“ _That's enough of that, I think_ ,” the Alpha continued smoothly. “ _If you want your boys back, you'll come to us. I don't expect you to come alone, but I do expect them to leave you behind.”_

“Jokes on you, I'm all I need,” Cali ended the call, handing the phone back to Stiles. “Tell Lydia we're looking for a female Alpha, it might help narrow the search. And tell Scott what's going on. I'm taking you two in with me as backup.”

“Are we—we're just getting them out, right?” Stiles paused as he started to text Scott. “Or are—we gonna kill them?”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

“Then sure,” she smiled, glancing at him as her eyes started to glow. “Let's shed some blood and show them what happens when they try to cross a Siren.”

“Can—do you need more backup than just us?” Stiles managed, frowning.

“Stiles, do you know what Cali is short for?” The Siren asked with a smirk.

He shook his head, “Derek never told me.”

She chuckled, and beyond the hum of the engine, Stiles heard thunder rumble, lightning streaking across the sky.

“It's short for Calypso.”

* * *

Peter couldn't hear half of what the Alpha was saying, he was caught half-way between a dream and reality, the image of Cali kneeling in front of him, half-buried in her mouth as she hummed around him, stroking his thigh.

A sound left him as he tried to pull himself back to the present, forcing his eyes to focus on Derek, the Alpha hissing in pain as a silver blade was drawn lazily over his bare chest.

Was he shirtless too? When had that happened?

A trail of kisses were dropped across his chest, an involuntary sound leaving him as he glanced back to see a wraith of Cali smirking up at him, her lips moving, but no sound coming out.

Right. She said not to hear her.

There was something nice about just having her there, though, the press of her skin on his, her lips moving against his neck, words almost formed but slipping away before he could pin them down—he felt his name, though, bookended by kisses, and let out a groan.

“Why, one would almost imagine you're _enjoying_ this,” the Alpha grinned at him, taking a step back from Derek. “Should I start on you, then?”

“Oh, I was just imagining how good your brain is going to look, splattered over the wall,” Peter ground out, a phantom hand reaching into his pants. “I wasn't even paying attention to your little monologue.”

Derek managed a smirk and quickly ducked his head to hide it, the Alpha growling as she rounded on Peter.

“You'd do well to watch your tongue,” she warned.

“You're not my Siren,” Peter shot back. “You can't tell me what to do.”

The lips were back against his neck, sucking a mark into his skin. Teeth caught on his pulse and his breathing hitched.

“Oh, no, I know what this is,” the Alpha grinned sharply. “ _Withdrawals_. Poor Anchor misses his whore—“

Peter spit in her face.

She slapped him with the flat of the blade.

The metal burned, and he bit back a whimper as his eyes shifted to blue, glaring at her.

“She is worth more than you will ever be,” he bit out. “She is my world. And I will love watching you bleed for this.”

“You'll be disappointed, then,” the Alpha smirked. “Because the moment she walks into this room, we'll be caging her.”

“You can't trap a storm in a bottle,” Peter smirked. “It'll shatter before you have a chance to stopper it.”

“How would you know? She's abandoned you before, who's to say she won't do it again?”

“She promised,” hands were holding onto him, now, fingernails digging into his shoulders as tears ran along his spine. “And she would never break a promise to me.”

“Maybe she won't,” the Alpha hummed, looking over to Derek. “But I ca think of a few ways to break you instead.”

Peter laughed, tossing his head back and—

— _and he was in the hospital, Cali crying into his lap, begging him to come back to her, to heal, to forgive her for not being there, to just_ come home—

—“ _coming!” She panted into his ear, eyes glowing as they mated for the first time, fucking like horny teenagers in the back of her tiny little hatch-back, knotted together and shuddering through their mutual orgasms, staring into each other's eyes as their marks burned, the spell finally—finally,_ finally— _complete, tethering them together until—_

—“ _Until I die,” she was bleeding from too many wounds, the stench of silver and salty blood catching him off guard and drawing tears to his eyes. “I promised you, Peter, I'll—I'll be with you until I die.”—_

“You'll die before you do,” he hissed. “And knowing Calypso, she'll make it slow.”

The Alpha's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before they narrowed into slits. “You're lying. She's not Calypso.”

“Did you really not do all your homework?” Derek spoke up. “Of course she is—you think _Talia Hale_ would be sung out into the woods by less?”

“She killed the last pack that tried to take her,” Peter added as his vision started to clear, his tether telling him she was getting close. “They shot her six times with silver bullets, and she still survived—do you really think you and your half-assed pack of _mongrels_ are going to fair any better?”

The Alpha started to backpedal, glancing between the both of them, shaking her head. “She died—she died in the Hale fire.”

“She wasn't even in the house,” Peter whispered. “We had fought, and she left... the fire never even touched a hair on her head.”

“No, no,” she shook her head again. “The Storm-Singer is—“

“Behind you,” Derek grinned.

Peter felt a wave of relief wash over him as Cali moved into the room, reading her lips as she moved closer.

“As if showing up on our turf unannounced wasn't bad enough, you decide to take our Alpha and my Anchor and hold them against their will, and _then_ ,” her smile was nasty. “ _Then_ you decide to threaten their safety in order to bring me to you.”

Her eyes were glowing as she next spoke, and the Alpha's hands started to shake.

“So now I'm here—what do you plan to do with me?” She stalked forward slowly, head canted to the side. “Your guards are dead, your prey is about to be rescued, and I'm here to fucking destroy you, so _tell me—what do you plan to do_?”

“Run,” the Alpha whimpered, compelled to answer. “Run and never look back.”

“No,” Calypso opened her mouth, and although peter couldn't hear it, he knew she was singing.

The Alpha fell to her knees, clutching at her ears as blood started to ooze from them. Cali stood over her, the force of her voice keeping the Alpha on all fours, the ground shaking under her.

She stopped singing as she knelt beside the Alpha, taking the silver blade from her, and Peter losing sight of her mouth as a last whisper was put to the wolf's ear before Cali drove the blade through her heart, twisting it sharply once it was inside.

The Alpha slumped onto the ground, and Cali stood, her eyes flashing bright for a moment before she spoke, and Peter could hear her again.

“Are you two alright?”

“Banged up, but not broken,” Peter managed, the sound of her voice setting something off under his skin, a sudden blaze of heat that felt like it would burn him alive. “Cali—“

“Derek!” Stiles shot past Cali and into the room, making for his Alpha, looking him over before he took Derek's face in his hands and kissed him soundly. “Next time, I'm patrolling _with you_.”

Derek chuckled as Stiles got to work on his shackles, the key he had stolen from the guards outside opening them.

“Okay, druid, you can join us,” Derek smirked, slumping into Stiles' arms as he was released. “But right now I need you to fuck me.”

Stiles turned a vibrant shade of red, muttering a reprimand into Derek's ear that Peter chose not to hear.

“Cali,” he whispered. “Please, Cali, I need—”

“I know, handsome, I know,” Cali hurried to him, unlocking his shackles. “I'm so sorry, peter, I came as fast I could.”

“You came,” he grinned, sounding giddy even to his own ears, her proximity like a warm glow. “That's all that matters, Cali, you _came_.”

“Gonna make you cum, if you give me half a chance,” he heard her voice purr into his ear, the hair on the back of his neck rising. “Gonna make a mess out of you, gorgeous.”

“Cali,” he gasped, eyes going wide as he slumped into her, rigid in her arms. “Can't tell what's you or—”

“Hey, hey,” she kissed his forehead. “ _Relax_.”

He went limp, the Siren keeping him upright with ease as she pressed quick, light kisses to his neck and shoulder, her hands rubbing over his back.

“I've got you, Peter, I've got you—I'm not going anywhere,” she kissed his neck, teeth scraping over his pulse. “The only place I'll be going any time soon is down on you, anyway.”

Peter growled, and Cali smirked faintly against his neck.

“Then you better fucking do it,” his eyes shifted to blue as he looked up at her. “Otherwise Stiles and Derek are going to get a _hell_ of a show.”

“Maybe they'll enjoy it,” she grinned sharply. “Maybe they'd join in—that could be fun, being in the center of all that.”

Peter snarled, the command to relax fighting with his instinct to protect and—

— _and he was flat on his back, Cali over him, moaning as she fucked herself on his cock, Derek behind her, panting as he fucked her ass. Above him, Stiles was scarlet, making small sounds as Cali took him into her mouth, swirling her tongue over the head before she started to take him in earnest, humming as her eyes glowed, a hand over Peter's heart as the tether burned with proximity and a groan rumbled out of him as he swore, fucking her in earnest, his competitive and protective streaks intermingling to make him desperate—_

“Peter,” Cali whispered, and he came back to himself, panting softly. “Come on, let's get you home.”

“I'm not gonna make it home,” he grumbled, already hyper aware of every point of contact between the two of them. “It's like—like the first time, I can't—”

Cali laughed, and it was like music to his ears, his heart starting to pound.

“The first time, in my hatch-back, in the middle of that tiny dirt road, steam on the windows and you desperate to fuck me—”

“Yes, _that_ first time,” he interrupted, his ears burning as he glanced to where Derek had his mouth latched to Stiles' neck. “And I think my nephew is having a similar problem.”

“Car?” Cali suggested, smirking against his neck again. “Or maybe just an obliging tree. I've always wondered how that would feel, with you.”

“Did you bring your tiny hatch-back?”

“Camaro.”

“Derek would hate that.”

“Derek might need it, first.”

A glance to the couple confirmed that was more than likely.

“Tree?”

“Tree,” Cali grinned. “Stiles, get Derek home before you two fall over. Tell Allison she should ride back in the van. Pretty sure you two will need the privacy.”

Stiles nodded, ducking his head as Derek grinned,already running his hands up under Stiles' shirt and over his skin, humming quietly.

“What about you two?” Stiles asked, glancing back at them.

“We'll make our own way home,” Cali answered before Peter could tell him to mind his own damn business. “Don't worry, we'll see you back at the house.”

“Let me know if you need anything,” Stiles nodded, rummaging through his pocket before he tossed Cali his keys. “You can take my car back, just don't—do—anything to it. In it. Whatever. Leave my baby alone, it's been through enough.”

Cali laughed, shoving the keys into her pocket before she shifted her arm up under Peter's shoulders, helping him across the room after the other two.

“I can walk,” Peter grumbled, but didn't fight her.

“I know,” she smirked. “I also know you like me man-handling you, Captain.”

He snorted, and she laughed, the banter bringing him back to earth as they climbed out of the ramshackle hideout.

It wasn't much to look at, from the outside, an abandoned building covered in boards and broken panels that showed the skeletal remains of the original construct. It smelled like blood and grime, and there were several more bodies up here, red mist painting the wall behind where one of them was missing his head.

Peter opened his mouth, an eyebrow raised at the body, ready to ask Cali how she'd done it when—

— _when he shoved her into a wall, crowding her space as she wrapped around him, panting and pressed flush against him, mewling into his ear as he moved in slow, deep thrusts, her nails catching on his shoulders as she begged him to keep going, to not stop, to never stop, to fuck her like her life depended on—_

“Peter, you gotta stop doing that,” she teased, lips brushing over his ear as she leaned him against a tree. “What do you need daydreams for when I'm right here?”

“I wasn't trying to,” he muttered, glancing around to be sure they were alone. “Now get over here, before I pass out.”

“Needy,” she teased, kissing him as she ran hands up over his sides. “Now, _tell me_ , how do you want me?”

He groaned as the suggestion washed over him, familiar and foreign all at once, a prickling of his skin a pleasant reminder of what she could do to him, what she was keeping back.

“Want to kiss you,” he bit out, fighting through the suggestion to collect his thoughts before he just blurted them all out. “To just feel you here, with me, for a moment.”

She kissed him, slow and soft, hands gentle against his abused skin, tenderly running through his hair and across his shoulders.

“And then?” She prompted after a long moment of contact, lazy kisses, and wandering hands. “I know you need more, Peter, just tell me.”

“I don't,” he pulled her closer, breathed her in. “All I need is you, Cal, that's it. Like this, just close, close enough to touch, to hear, maybe to taste.”

She stole a kiss and he chuckled.

“You're what I need.”

“So no sex against a tree?”

“I prefer my very nice, very expensive sheets, thank you,” he smirked. “Besides, _splinters_.”

“Well, I guess we aren't teenagers desperate for a shag, anymore,” she grinned, putting her forehead to his. “So do you want to head home? Tuck each other into those expensive sheets you mentioned?”

“You're not going to let the boys get a head-start?”

“They have a _car_.”

“I can still smell them, they haven't left yet.”

“Sounds like they have a different kind of head-start, then.”

Peter laughed, picking her up in his arms, nuzzling into her neck as he sighed against her skin.

"I love you, Cali.”

“I know,” she hummed. “And I love you, Peter.”

Her heart was steady, warm, pumping out a song he felt against his own chest.

“So how far to Stiles' car?”

“About a ten minute drive.”

“What if I ran with you?”

“Haven't done that since we were young,” she laughed. “Maybe six minutes? Eight? You aren't as spry as you used to be.”

He huffed, “I'll show you spry.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf and all related character(s) belong to their respective owners.
> 
> Cali "Hale" belongs to me.


End file.
